Friday, 8 June 2012


And I don't mean photos. It's those completely unlooked for images that suddenly pop into your head when you're trying to concentrate on the current WiP. For instance, There I was, happily working on Fool's Rush and Andreas' scene with Lucien Boissant, when this totally unrelated image flashed up.

The knife was black. Not the matt of a Special Ops weapon, but the gloss of obsidian. A glitter ran along the edges of the leaf-shaped blade, hinting at a sharpness beyond that of shattered glass.

I scribbled it down, of course. Sooner or later it'll expand itself into something more tangible. I hope.

Then there's this one.

Smooth stone lay warm under his cheek, under his hands, and sunlight glowed scarlet through his lids. When he blinked his eyes open dust as fine as talc clogged his lashes. All he could see were the irregular flagstones, the pale sheen of polished marble muted by the drifts of pale ochre.

The first raindrop hit like a small bomb, inches away. The crater it made formed a perfect circle, the dust darker now it was wet. Another hit, striking his temple and running down into his eye. He felt nothing. Far above him thunder growled, and the few splatters of rain became a deluge. He couldn't move.

Are the two scenes related? I don't think so, but they'll both have to wait until I can focus more attention on them.

How is it that writers need more than twenty-four hours in a day? At least, this writer does. She also needs to concentrate more and not get distracted. Hmm - wonder if my grandsons inherited their ADHD from me?


  1. Loved the poetry of the 2 unrelated scenes you wrote, to me that is what I look for in an author, one who combines the poetic with a solid story, when they merge it makes magic...

  2.  Thank you, hon *g*. With any luck, the moon in the right quarter and a following wind, they'll morph into fully fledged stories - eventually.