Though this blog has been utilized mostly for the posting of visual art since its conception, it may come as a surprise to my small collection of readers (those who do not know me personally) that I fancy myself a bit of a storyteller as well. I am by no means a great writer, nor am I terribly accomplished. But sometimes I jot down a few ideas with the whimsical notion of a distant future in which I might see them published on a page for all the world to see. Of course, this would require a great deal of time, effort, and not a little monetary support. As I am typically busy, quite skint, and uncommonly lazy, I tend to consider this dream of mine woefully out of reach. But sometimes I sit down at my computer, and I am overcome with a compulsion to create something. Often times, my inner critic will squash this idea immediately. I haven't planned or prepared enough; I'm not skilled enough to put together anything worth reading. And even if I did produce anything, what would I do with it? How could I ever be satisfied enough with it to share with anyone?
Tonight, I decided to ignore my inner critic. After a little musical inspiration, I came up with the briefest of scenes from a little fanfiction I've been conceptualizing over the past couple of months. I was so proud of the little slice of text that, even though it has been through no real thought or editing, I wished to share it with someone. Anyone. But not to draw too much attention to it. Just to put it out there in the world. Tack it up on a wall where anyone so inclined might give it a cursory glance or even a quick read. But where?
That was when I remembered that I had a blog. An art blog, no less. And though, as I've said, it has been devoted mostly to visual art since I created it, I thought to myself--why not add a new dimension to it? After all, I may love drawing, but it is not my true passion. It's just the easier of my artistic inclinations to share with others. A single blink and you've taken in the entire production. Reading takes a bit more effort. Writing, even more so. And editing, the true task of a writer, the most of all. I didn't really do any of that, though, so whatever.
My hope is basically that this will reach only very few eyes, and only those inclined towards kind if thorough critique, if at all. All I really wanted was to put this somewhere, and to proclaim that, 'I did this.' I have few enough accomplishments in writing, and I wish to celebrate those that I have. Perhaps it will encourage me to do more of it. And gods know, I need as much encouragement to take steps towards that impossible dream as I can get.
The music was soft and lilting, light and hopeful. It was as deep and delightful as a dappled wood, the staccato notes like the uncareful drip of rainfall on new leaves. It felt like hope. And for someone to whom hope had been a stranger for so long, the song was as bittersweet as it was touching.
Muiri's vision blurred before she even felt the tears begin to well. She closed them, to hide her pain and to shut out everything that was not the music and the memories it envoked. Sitting with Friga on the steps of the old house, picking at mountain flowers and dreaming of the day when they were both happily married, doors just across from one another, sharing womanly secrets and laughing with joy as their children played together as they had when they were young.
When the song was over, the memory and the dream faded with it, like a setting sun. The feeling of elation, so fleeting, fled her rapidly. All that was left was an aching emptiness; a deep regret from which she feared she might never recover. An endless twilight, in which she could only ever see just enough to know how badly surrounded she was by shadow, and how blind she was without the sun to guide her.
There was a heavy warmth on her shoulder, and she looked up suddenly. The tears spilled down her cheeks. She had nearly forgot them. Rhuk was looking at her with something akin to concern in his eyes. They were deep, sunken in shadow, hidden from the light. But the firelight reflected there gave them a brief glint of brightness, winking like a pair of stars.
Guiding stars in the night. Muiri had to smile. The sun was long gone, and darkness had fallen. But not all was lost. There were stars in the night to light her path. They could never be so bright or so warming as the sun, but she could rely on their cold light, and find her way through the darkness.
Someday, the night would end.
