The Beauty Within

This was my second entry to the Writing Contest, which earned an honorable mention. I’m posting it because I haven’t posted in a long time!! =)

Some people say that mankind is like a meadow of flowers swaying together. The bluebell looks at the lily and wistfully wonders why it was not gifted with such beauty – while the lily gazes at the rose and covets its vibrant colors. Unable to look upon ourselves, it’s only when another holds up a mirror and we see our reflection that we realize the beauty within.
The name of my mirror-holder was René. He sought me out at a time when even my own mother kept me stirring soup in the kitchen, so as not to scare away the boarding house guests with my deformed face and figure. Whether I was dusting, or mopping, or peeling potatoes, he would always find me and sit for hours spinning tales of his past adventures, or playing melodies on his violin. His kindness and patience as he listened to my stuttering speech brought me to realize that here, in this unlikely, grey haired man, I had found my first friend.
And with this friend came the key to unlock my chains. Cursed for so long to look upon fair flowers in this world’s meadow, I had learned to live with my eyes closed, inside my mind. René released my inner world the day he laid his violin in my callused hands and offered to teach me. It turned out he was offering to teach a duck how to swim.
I invented entire tunes on the spot, playing them as they wound through my mind. Even in the beginning when the notes came out squeaky, guests paused in the kitchen door and listened with mouths agape.
“My music is magical,” I told René, my tongue stumbling over the words. “It blinds them to my ugliness.”
He only shook his head. “It awakens them to your beauty.”
On that day I didn’t believe what he said. But now I know he spoke the truth. When my mother listened to me fiddle Papa’s favorite song, she realized she had been blind to a daughter who loved her. When the guests heard my slow, sweet songs in the evening, they knew they had overlooked the scullery maid too quickly. And when Jacques Depaul, a great composer, watched me play one of his complex songs by ear, he saw greatness hidden within my soul.

Several years have passed since René first laid his worn violin in my hands.
I stand in the darkness of the stage wing, swathed in an ethereal white dress. I know I look like a mottled cake poorly covered with icing, but I straighten my shoulders and tuck my violin – my voice – beneath my chin.

They announce my name, Marjorie Chevalier, to the king of France, and lights illuminate the stage. I take a deep breath and step forward, into the light, the sound of my music filling the lofty hall until it makes the chandeliers tremble. This song is a thank you to my mirror-holder – to René.

Managi & Otawa, Pt. 2

On a lighter note, here’s a draft from yesterday:

Another slow day at the library! Here, dear readers, is the continuation of our friend’s adventures.

Two silhouettes on a lone tower, Managi and Otawa stood side by side, staring out on the swirling blue.

“It’s so beautiful,” Otawa said, smiling happily.

Managi stomped his foot, irritated. “No, no, no! It’s not beautiful!” he shrieked, then rolled his eyes. “All right, maybe it is. But I did not come out here to admire blueish mist! I came to find kiwis for a delectable breakfast, and instead I end up stuck… with nowhere to go.”

Managi tiptoed carefully to the edge of their pillar, peering down at the edge. “No magical ladder or flying walrus, waiting to transport us away? What sort of supernatural tower is this?!” As he finished his disgusted rant something nudged his toe. He nearly toppled over the edge, but for Otawa grabbing the collar of his vest and gently setting him back on the groun.

A long, slender bridge swayed in an invisible breeze before them. It glittered as if spun from spider silk and stretched far into the distance before disappearing altogether into the ethereal mist.

Managi clung to his large friend. “O-O-Otawa, do you see that?”

Otawa nodded, his eyes huge. “It’s so beautiful…” he murmured. He took a step forward, onto the bridge and it swayed beneath his feet.

Managi shrieked. “Otawa! Get back here! We are not walking on that thing.”

Walking back, Otawa put his large hand on his friend’s shoulder and smiled. Then he picked him up and effortlessly set him onto his shoulders. Managi clung to Otawa’s head.

“O-O- Otawa – no!”

They started across the bridge.

Another sampling…

To accomplish the official NaNoWriMo goal, in the next week I would have to write as much as I’ve written in the last 23 days. (which isn’t going to happen) But I still have excedded my goal of 20,000. (which was 17,000 and started out in the very beginning as 15,000…) I’ve also written much more on ONE story than I’ve ever written before – which makes me very happy!

The words were flowing rather well today. At last count, I’ve called my main character a madman four times, thrown him down a flight of stairs, nearly sunburnt him to death in a desert, and (recently) had him whipped. I had mused I wanted to make my main characters ‘feel’ a bit more so they weren’t simply tripping through life happily, but I think this is a little extreme. =) No, not really. It makes sense for this main character’s situation.

Anyhow, I thought I would share with all of you another small excerpt from my novel. So enjoy, and God bless!

“Did you hear that?”

The gruff voice of a soldier echoed down the hallway.

“It’s just our minds playing trick from being down here too long, Samuel”. Another deeper voice responded. “None’s in this prison but the man Darius beat to death.”

A laugh. “An’ the dead can’t sing.”

The torchlight grew stronger. “But I could’ve sworn…”

A tall guard came around the corner, peering into the cells. He stopped when he came to Joash’s. “Issachar…” His voice wobbled and broke.

Joash blinked against the bright light as another guard came to stand by the first.

“By the beard of Rama…” The second guard breathed.

Joash shifted, starting to stand, and everything went black as the guards dropped their torches in their hurry to run.

He stared in the darkness. Dead?

“Elyon, what happened to me?” he whispered.

Managi & Otawa

While at the library a few weeks ago I was brainstorming on my Nanowrimo novel. The internet was going EXTREMELY slow, so I started playing around with Word. So here, faithful readers, is my jottings.

Managi clung to the root desperately, staring in disbelief at the swirling blue nothing below his foot. Without turning his head, without moving a muscle he snapped at his fellow hiker.

“Otawa, there’s no kiwi trees out here! And you never mentioned this cliff,” he continued complaining as he felt his large friend reach out and easily pull him back to the comfortingly solid ground.

He turned to find Otawa’s eyes as wide as saucers, staring at the vast dropoff before them. Managi allowed his tone to soften some. “You didn’t know this was here?” His heart was still pounding and he shoved his hands into his vest pockets with an irritated air to hide the shaking.

Otawa sturred, clearly at a loss for words.

Managi turned and studied the periwinkle fog. “Well then, it must be a new phenomenon, since you know every rock and bump in this region. Come on, we’ll just have to go back and forego kiwis this breakfast.”

He turned and took another step and let loose a high shriek. Otawa’s huge hand darted out and grabbed his friend’s collar, pulling him back onto their now circular tower in the middle of the etherly ocean.

Managi couldn’t hide his violent shaking now. “W-w-we’re surrounded.”

Otawa’s fear was erased as he chuckled at his friend’s obvious shock.

And here ends what I wrote! Perhaps I’ll add some more, so stay tuned. =)

Once again without a writing purpose…

I visit this site often and sometimes even click “New Post”. But I find this has the curious effect to suck my brain of, well, anything, and I usually end up going and doing something else, say reading something someone else happily wrote for me to read. My posts have been getting more and more scattered since I started. Like forcing myself to write in my diary daily, only I can’t write things I write in my diary. I should think up deep theological thoughts instead of revealing the going-ons of my personal life.

Ha! I found the writing purpose for this entry – to write about not writing. How odd! =) And now I’m out of inspiration again…

Ah! I know! I just wrote a short… not quite a story, more like a clip or excerpt, although it’s not an excerpt of anything. But here it is. I’ll put it in and be satisfied with this post.

Fidus rolled the slim scroll up, a smile on his face. He was very pleased with himself. It was finally accomplished. He straightened his green vest and leaned out the window to whistle for a bluejay.

There was a knock on the door and Gamsy stepped. He caught sight of the scroll and bounced on his tiny shoes.

“You’ve finished it, then?”

Fidus sat in his plumb armchair and set his quill back in the ink, having forgotten it in his excitement. “Yes, it’s over and done with. Now it’s up to the rest.”

Gamsy beamed. “They can do it, Fidus.”

Fidus nodded, feeling satisfied. A bluejay fluttered to the windowsill and stood there, waiting. Fidus handed it the scroll.

“In the Bubbleyew Marsh, to Evon.” He gave the instructions and the bird was gone on the autumn breeze. Fidus gazed after it for a moment and than leaped to his feet.

“Come, Gamsy,” he said as he grabbed his cloak. “We can’t let them have all the fun. Saddle the lynxes and we’ll be off.”