The Cost Of Creativity

Read an interesting column by Jerry B. Jenkins, short and sweet, regarding what it takes to write a book, and came away with this quote:

"Don't ever get the idea writing is easy.  If it is, you're not working hard enough.  The stuff that comes easy takes the most rewriting.  And stuff that comes hard reads the easiest."

I have to say, after 7 years of off-and-on writing (mostly off, I'm ashamed to admit), and now that I'm seriously working on my book (the second one, actually, but first that will hit the bookshelves) with a self-imposed deadline, I'm only ever more reminded of how true that one quote is.  But I am also reminded that, to see my book in print, I actually have to keep working at it.

And on that note, on to chapter 5!

Mimi & Eunice - Much agony can go into banal results.

Mother Earth's Predictions

"You men and your Gods!  

You mock the Mother for snail slowness, 

for creating blindly in the dark.

Yet when you create without Her,

swiftly and in the light, you will create blindly indeed--

shaping, maybe, a world's death!

Well, poison sea and sky, the air you breathe,

and even the sweet brown skin of Her breast, 

that always She has allowed you to tear to give you grain.

Kill and kill until nothing is left 

but bare bones upon barren, polluted earth.

The Mother is mighty;

She has many bodies, and your world is but one of them.

In Her mightiness She may yet heal Her wounds

and make earth bloom again--

yes, raise up you men along with it,

even if She has to bear your whole race again.

For a good mother is patient; 

she knows that a child must stumble many times 

before it learns to walk...

Also you do have your good points.  

Who should know that better than I?"

She laughed, and cradled Pwyll's head upon her breasts.

from Prince of Annwn, Mabinogion Tetralogy - Evangeline Walton

For any of you interested, this book (4 in 1) is the telling of Welsh myths, which include Fey and Fairies, Dragons and enchantresses, Death and Other Worlds, Quests and True Love, among many other exciting things.  A definite recommend!

Life Is But A String

It’s so easy to cut yourself.  The skin, so tender, splits beneath the blade like water under the keel of a boat.  Your body, at first, is too shocked to know how to react, then blood fills the new gap like a field of poppies at spring.  Then the pain comes.  It starts as a dull throb then scales up until it’s reached a couple of octaves higher.  You grit your teeth for a moment.  Then you tell yourself, hey, this isn’t so bad.  I could get used to it.

You concentrate on the scarlet drops sliding down your sun-kissed skin in rivulets until the whole world around you dissipates in a blurry cacophony of colors.  Even the noise that’s kept you up for months’ on end like the tonal variant of Chinese torture seems to fade in the sound of your slowing heart’s beats in your ears. 

Your head feels heavy.  You lie down, or recline against something.  You’re not quite sure anymore.  It doesn’t really matter.  You smile to yourself, the first time in…  well, for the last time, surely.  You think of all your childhood memories, little nuggets of happiness that melt away like chocolate on the tongue.  It’s funny, really, how the world works.  Would you ever have imagined yourself this way?

The world feels heavier and heavier.  You’re not sure whether you’re breathing again.  Your sight is gone.  Or have you closed your eyes?  All you know is that soon enough, this terrible, oppressing weight will be lifted, and you’ll be free again.

The last thought that comes to you as you enjoy the final taste of your memories is…

I’m sorry.