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Loose string I weave my life through echos of vibrant hues of blue, twisting in tandem with creations busts of embroidered random. I see star dust glinting from the edge, with little time to feel an inch of dread.
I collect that fear and turn it into a balm, one to sooth my aches, to hold a silver hope in my palm.
The death note at my end will wither and renounce, will my second chance perhaps be as a mouse. A simple existence some are sure to say, but i predict a terror, that only comes from prey.
We live in a material world of handstitched nonsense, add new patch only to realise your cutting away at paths allready sewn.
It has begun. So I've never written a book before, but turns out all that reading I did growing up has really inspired me to create my own. Also it turns out trauma and crisis offer alot in the ideas department. (not me purging my tormoil and agony into ink).
This is still in the very early stages, the plot is loose and hardly set in stone but I have some (I hope) interesting character arks and themes. I have no idea what I'm doing but this is offering some kind of inner healing, to turn the pain into something else. (make my character go through unspeakable pain, but also make them stronger mentally than I'll ever be. Or not).
An except from it so far. (title is still undecided) named 'Sundial' for now
"Well, what do you see"? Colin looked around, there wasn't anything in particular that jumped out at him, a small grove of tress nestled together, a patch of daisy's freckled white against the green and the blue reached out and up from it. "I see something I don't understand".
Excerpt from my wip 'Sundial'
The gathering was larger than he expected.
Roy's mother had been a kind woman, always with a story to share and fish to sell. But never would he had guessed that she was loved by so many.
The trawlermen and woman left offerings of ship rope and netting, they bowed their heads and shook his hand, "your mother always helped out when one of us was ill."
He never knew she was taking extra work and for no coin or payment as well, she would come home tired most days, salty sea air clinging to her clothes and a fish rapped in newspaper for dinner in hand.
The head faith leader approached the grave, her eyes solemn and hands reaching for his "I think your mother would want you to have this."
Passed from her hand to Roy's was a book. He remembers her reading to him most nights growing up, storys from the old time, from before, all past down from sorry souls with only their words left. Feeling the worn cover and faded letter indents, he knew this was hers.
It was secondhand and tattered. It wasn't quite a text from any of the old religions, no talk of a man leading people to salvation or phophets reciting words sent from above. It was the tale of life. The force of trees uprooting, wind singing to the sea and a tiny seed of exsistants that we all seem to be, an assortment of history's most don't follow. but she did.
He would try to do the same, he'd rather believe her story's than believe her gone. She lived on in his mind now. She lived on in the trees, she was a voice singing with the wind, she traveled calmer seas and whispered flowers in bloom. She was not gone, merely transformed. She was anew.
Previous Excerpt from 'Sundial'
Excerpt from my book 'Sundail'
(Currently wip)
When the weary travel they hold their hope in a candle.
Roy had never traveled by sea before, he'd taken the first navel ship out of the white Isles, on a crisp June morning. The sea air was fresh, the rocky coastline of the small fishing town a thin line against the skys pale blue expanse.
"aye up boy!" grunted an older sailor, he was old and ruff in apperence, his gait was one used to a life on deck.
Throwing a thick, coiled rope down behind Roy, and leaning against the ships railing he bagan to roll a cigar, "you know a life on the sea isnt an easy one, if I where you I'd swim back to the promenade."
Roy was completely aware of the dangers most men met on the harsh waters, many found their death and those that didn't wished they had.
"I know what I'm getting myself in for."
He watched the busy Dock grow smaller in the distance, home was now behind him, he was ready for a new start. The old man eyed Roy in contemplation, took a long drag of his cigar and followed Roy's gaze out to the water and disappearing shoreline, the rich smell of tabbaco settled between them.
"The water changes you, I'm not the same man I was when I first stepped on board this ship"
he turned to Roy, his eyes worried and brow serious "is this what you want boy, to be so changed you can't go back."
Roy's lips twitched up, a satirical expression for someone about to leave everything behind him, "oh I'm counting on it".