OK, I'm not going to say it's just flown, that it seems like just yesterday that I started writing, my pen has just been running ink so nicely. I won't lie to you. While it does seem hard to believe that time moves so quickly (seems to speed up in direct proportion to your level of busy-ness), I can hardly say that writing everyday has been super easy. Mostly it has involved carving out time earlier in the morning (read: getting up earlier), and drawing inspiration from random sources throughout the day.
Because, nice as it would be to claim that everything I've written has been solely inspired by all the lovely pictures I've been putting up here- that's not how it works. It probably hasn't worked that way for you either. (Unless, perhaps, you spend more time staring at the image for inspiration, and connect with visual things better. Maybe.).
But, that's fine. In fact, that's one of the things I like (and am better enjoying) about writing; the way it makes you notice things differently. Inspiration is supposed to come from around you; the picture is merely a spark, a little arrow that you can point in any direction you choose. While you journey with your writing, you can pick up other ideas to add and weave into your developing piece.
So, take today's image (from Unsplash again- loving the quality there) and then make sure you keep your senses open for other inspiration. Draw on your memories. Explore your environment for further inspiration. And, to paraphrase Ernest Hemingway, "Just sit down to the keyboard and bleed."
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Perhaps this is plagiarism.
If it is, though, we should all just give up and go completely crazy. For this is a tale millennia old, but not
half as well-known as it should be.
Not one in a hundred people will be able to guess the
original with the names changed...
“This is it? There
aren’t any other cisterns?” The panic
rising in Adrian’s eyes creeps into his voice as looks over at his friend and
fellow guardsman, Marcus. Both stare
into the city’s nearly empty water tank- the sides are dry except for a shallow
pool at the bottom. And they both know
that will be gone soon enough. The
blockade has done its work.
Adrian starts as he hears the shouting outside the walls
swell like a sudden wave of thunder. The
siege only seems to be wearing on one side- the side of the outnumbered
defenders: their side.
“When there’s no more water…” Adrian starts to mutter.
“That’s not our decision,” Marcus cuts him off, rising
quickly to his feet. “And we didn’t defend
our city the last three weeks only to give up now. We’ve got to make our report to the general.”
“And that is all?”
Commander Felix looks up at them with weary grey eyes, the exhausted
grey face of a man pushed past his limits of physical and psychological
endurance. A famine, and then a siege, a
siege he knows they do not have the supplies to withstand.
“Yes, sir.” Adrian
turns and slides out of the tent, recognizing the dismissal.
“You are dismissed.”
Still Marcus stands there.
“Sir, I am asking for permission to go behind enemy lines.”
The general peers at him in the dim light of the citadel’s
lanterns. Marcus is a common soldier,
young, not yet promoted- but… he can’t be asking permission to leave at this
critical time, can he? Yet what can he
hope to accomplish, leaving by himself?
“If I can decapitate the snake, we can survive the siege.”
“Assassinate General Leo?
You’ve never even seen the man!”
The incredulity in the general’s voice is loud in the dark room at the heart
of the citadel.
“Fate willing, yes.
Or die trying. There aren’t many other
options now, are there?” Marcus’ eyes
flicker for a moment before returning to their customary wall of stoicism.
One word and a thousand images dart through the minds of
both men; their enemy’s reputation for fierceness and torture is no
secret. But if the city falls…
The general swallows, then nods. “You may go.
And, if you do not return while we yet stand… you will be remembered
bravely, a spur of courage to the others.”
Marcus nods, salutes, and strides out swiftly. The thing must be done quickly- before the assault
is successful, and, more importantly, before he loses his nerve, he reminds
himself as he wipes his sweaty palms.
…
“We will be ready to begin preparations for the final
assault tomorrow?” General Erik’s turns
suddenly to one of his many assembled captains, standing stiffly at attention
on the left side of his chair.
“Five days from now, your lordship,” the officer murmurs in
reply as he bows. He wisely keeps his
head down, while his superior glares at him with eyes that wouldn’t melt even
in the fire of the brazier that keeps off the chill night air. No other man has half the intimidating
presence that has kept the soldiers strong throughout the long weeks of the
siege. But they have been long weeks… For
a few moments, the general sits silent, clenching and unclenching his meaty
fists.
“This city! Is it
worth this?” he thinks to himself. Three
long weeks, no negotiations, and every day taxes his army in a way that only
those in command are fully aware of. And
the unreasonable chills of foreboding this place gives him…
“We must shorten the time,” he demands, rising and striding
towards the exit of the meeting tent, preceded by his royal secretary, Arsenio.
Leo is on the threshold of exiting, when Arsenio falls with
a gurgling cry at his feet. Four guards
leap toward a shadow as Leo jumps backwards.
The struggle is fierce, but brief. “Wait, bring him in here.” The soldiers do not dare disobey that imperious
voice, and bring their prisoner into the dim light of the meeting tent.
“A spy?” Leo spits
out the word with disdain as he sits back down. This doesn’t ease the cold feeling in the pit
of his stomach, but at least he can hide it with barking. “What use did you have with the life of my
secretary, spy?”
Marcus raises his head, staring coolly into the general’s
grey eyes.
“None. A pass of bad luck. But that will not be enough to keep you safe.”
Leo laughs. “Safe? I sit outside your walls, where I have you
penned and nearly defeated.”
Marcus’ gaze is unflinching. “I am but the first. The braver will come after me.”
“Braver? You will burn to death if you do not reveal their plans.” Leo’s sneer
is almost exaggerated in his attempt to cover that cold feeling.
The four guards gasp as their prisoner twists his right hand
free, only to thrust it into the flames of the brazier. There he holds it, still staring directly at
the general. “Braver. I only wanted to be the first because I
feared to hear the fate of any before me.
We have hardly begun.”
Leo gazes with a sort of fascinated horror at the hand
burning in the flames. This soldier
would give up his sword hand to impress him?
What sort of people is this? That
chilly knife twists his insides again, turning more savagely as he sees the faces of his stunned officers in the light of that fire.
"Release him. He has proved his own courage," Leo croaks.
"Then," Marcus says clearly, pulling his burnt hand out while the guards back away, "I tell you freely what you would never have gotten by torture. Three hundred and seven others have pledged their lives to accomplish where I have failed. You will never be safe, and will die surprised."
Leo stares back at this bold enemy, then snaps his fingers at the guards. "See that he makes it back into his city, and goes nowhere else."
"Commander..." one of the officers begins.
Leo glares at him. The glare melts, however, as his gaze shifts over all the other officers in the tent. There is no way he can lead them to attack a city like that now.
"Well, gentlemen, you are prepared to send a delegation for negotiating?"
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