Writing Woes

I wrote a post a few weeks ago about how difficult it has been recently for me to get up the energy to do any writing. I wanted to change that. I wanted to get back to a place where writing was easy, where it was fun. Well, that hasn’t really happened yet.

Since that post, I’ve written once for around a half hour. I only got out a few hundred words. It probably would have been more, but I remembered something as I was going along that made me stop. It has also made it harder for me pick it back up. I remembered a question that Baby E asked me a while back. She asked me when I was going to write a book that she could take to school and have it be read.

Now, none of the books that I’ve written have had anything too terrible in them. They aren’t exactly kid friendly either. Not anything I want my 9 year old to read anyway.

There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my little girl, but this is something that I’m not sure I can do. My writing, for the most part, contains a fair bit of darkness in it. I’m not sure I’d be able to tone it down enough to get through an entire story. Besides, I don’t even know if I could come up with a story that would interest 9-10 year olds. I didn’t read that much back when I was that age and things are a lot different now than they were back then. I don’t know if they’d like the same things I did when I was their age, let alone the things I like now. More than likely, if I attempt this, it will be a huge failure.

I know some of you might be thinking, “She’s your daughter. She’ll be proud of you no matter what,” and you’d probably be right. For now, anyway. She’s quickly approaching the age when parents becoming embarrassing.

Still, if I do this, I want it to be something worth her being proud of.

Add title

Start writing…

Is that how this works? I just start writing? Because that’s not how it’s been lately.

I wrote a little bit in one of my offline projects last week, and I hoped that it was going to be the start of a streak of getting out of this writing funk I’ve been in. It wasn’t. It was just an anomaly.

The thing is, I want to write. I want to finish the project that I’m working on. I want to move on to the next thing on my story idea list. For whatever reason, though, I can’t.

Some of it is lack of time. Not only do I work, but both of the girls are doing multiple sports at the moment. Sure, Mrs. Revis is doing most of the running around with them while I do my best to keep the house in some semblance of order, but I’m writing this from a cheerleading practice at the moment so I do have some parental duties that take up more time than normal.

Most of it is something I can’t put my finger on. When I do have a few minutes to spare, writing isn’t on top of my list. I’ll play video games, or watch TV. Or read.

I’ve thought about forcing myself to write for a half hour or so a day, but I’m afraid that if I do, it won’t be as good as it should be. On the other hand, at least I’d be writing.

I don’t know. Maybe I’ll try it for a week and see how it goes. After all, I forced myself to write this and it’s not too bad, right?

Reaper of the Whirlwind

He stood at the center while everything flowed around him. Chaos surrounded him, circling his body with the blowing wind. Everyone else had run for cover, but not him. Never him.

He knew how to use this power, to harness it.

His arms shot out wide to touch the swirling winds as they blew past him. At first, he struggled to keep them steady against the push of air. Then, he began to turn with it. Faster and faster he spun in the wind’s direction. It wasn’t long until it was sucked into him. He and the whirlwind became one.

Everything became a blur. He was moving so fast it felt like he was standing still. All around him things either went flying away or were brought into his vortex. He smiled. There was only one thing to do with this power and all of the people who had ever wronged him would soon regret their decisions.

That is, unless they, too, knew how to reap the whirlwind.

The Twelfth Knight Epilogue

He woke up with a start. Roscoe looked all around, not really knowing what was happening. The last thing he remembered was being in Worram’s warehouse and he had just been saved by Conroe. Now, he was laying in his bed. Was it all just a dream? He looked down at his abdomen and saw two new scars where he had been stabbed. No, it wasn’t a dream. So, what happened?

“You passed out,” said a voice from the doorway to his chambers.

His cousin had just walked in carrying a tray with a pitcher of water and a loaf of bread. Conroe set it down on Roscoe’s bed and took a step back.

“Sorry,” Conroe said with a shrug. “You appeared to be confused, so I answered the question that was probably rattling around in your head.”

“I saw you get stabbed,” was the only thing that came to Roscoe’s mind to say.

“I did, and it hurt too. If I had been wearing normal clothes, it probably would have been fatal, but my armor deflected the blade enough that it didn’t hit any vital organs.”

“How did you recover so quickly?”

“I used the same wand of healing that I used on you after you saved Worram. Do you not remember that?”

“I do not recall…” Roscoe’s mind wandered for a few moments before he finally asked, “Wait, how did you know where I was, or that I was in trouble?”

“We were following you. Revis has taken notice of how hard you’ve been training and wanted to know if you were ready to move up in rank so he came up with this test to see how well you’d do in a real life situation.”

Roscoe gestured to his wounds, “Obviously not very well.”

“I beg to differ,” said a new voice.

Both men looked to see Revis standing in the doorway. “You performed the task you were given, although I specifically said to not engage with Merlinus.”

“I know, sir,” Roscoe interrupted, “but if I didn’t, Worram would have been killed.”

“I know. He told me. He also told me that you were ready to sacrifice your life to save his. This was corroborated by Conroe and the other Knights present. As far as I’m concerned the safety of the Kingdom’s citizens is the most important part of a Knight’s job. For you to risk giving up your life to ensure the safety of one of our citizens means that you you passed this test with flying colors.”

“But Merlinus got away…”

Revis glanced down at his weapon. “No, he didn’t.”

Roscoe couldn’t get his mind to wrap around it all. “So, what happens now?”

“Once you’re ready, you’ll rejoin the Knights. When you do, it will be as the 10th Knight.”

“The 10th Knight?”

“The current 10th Knight will be retiring soon, and you’re better suited for the position than the 11th Knight.”

Roscoe’s mind swirled for a moment before it was filled with resolve. “If it’s all the same to you, sir, I think I’d rather stay where I’m at.”

“Are you sure?” Conroe asked. “This is a great opportunity.”

“I’m sure,” Roscoe replied. “If there’s one thing this experience has taught me, it’s that I still have a lot to learn. I won’t be able to do that with the responsibilities of the 10th Knight.”

“If that’s what you want,” Revis said,”then that’s what you’ll get.”

“It is. Besides, I’ve gotten used to being the 12th Knight, and I’m not ready to give that up just yet.”

The Twelfth Knight Part 7

The next few moments were a blur to Roscoe. After seeing his cousin fall to the ground with a sword wound in his back, his vision turned red as he set his sights on the man who stabbed Conroe. He had been scared of the man before, but all of that melted away when he thought about what had just happened. Roscoe also felt the grogginess left over from his healing lift off of his shoulders as well. As soon as he felt well enough to fight, the crimson took over his eyes.

He became unaware of what he was doing. There was a vague sensation of his body moving, but he wasn’t sure what it was doing. The only thought that was in his head was the image of Conroe laying bleeding on the floor. It festered there until he was sure that he was about to explode. Right before he burst, a pain in his side snapped him out of the phase he was in.

When he came to, he was squared off against the man. The man had a small cut above one eye. Roscoe, on the other hand, had a deep gash right above his waist on his left side. He took a step back to be better able to analyze his situation and his wound screamed in protest. Roscoe did his best to keep from showing the pain, but he knew he was unsuccessful when the man put on a big grin right after.

The man moved forward quicker than Roscoe thought was possible. There were a number of different angles that he could expect the attack to come from. Letting his instincts take over, he positioned his blade to intercept in the spot he thought was the most likely. Another round of pain told him that he failed. A new wound appeared just above the previous one. It was the place he had anticipated the attack to come from, but he hadn’t been quick enough to fully parry it.

Instead of stepping away from the blade, however, he stepped toward it. The man’s eyes went wide as Roscoe willingly impaled himself further. Then those eyes went even wider when the man finally realized why Roscoe had done it. Before the man could pull away, Roscoe launched a haymaker at his chin. Satisfaction coursed through him when he felt his fist connect solidly with the man’s face.

The two men stumbled away from each other, Roscoe getting the worst of that round. Blood began dripping from the man’s nose, but it was nothing compared to the two wounds Roscoe carried in his side. Still, it had felt good and, if nothing else, he’d given the man something to remember him by. He couldn’t survive another fight like that and both combatants knew it. Despite this, the man looked more angry at being hit than happy about winning the fight.

“Don’t even think about it,” came a voice from behind the man.

Looking past his opponent, Roscoe saw three more Knights of the Kingdom standing there. He knew all of them, but couldn’t think of their names for some reason. Must be the wounds, he thought to himself as he felt his legs start to feel weak. What were their names again? That question stayed with him as he began to fade.

No, he chided himself. He had to stay awake. He had to stay focused on what was happening around him. Roscoe used the image of Conroe being stabbed to fuel the anger he needed to fight the growing urge to just lay down. His eyes zeroed in on the man in front of him, now angrier than ever.

“You’re not taking me alive,” the man seethed. “I’m going to kill as many of you as I can before I go.” With a finger pointed at Roscoe, he added, “Starting with you.”

Roscoe moved to put his sword in front of him to attempt a defense, but it wasn’t in his hands anymore. He must’ve dropped it when he got stabbed, otherwise it would’ve been in his hand when he punched the man. With no weapon to defend himself, he watched his doom coming at him. Roscoe tried to leap out of the man’s path, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. All he could do was watch.

And watch he did. He watched as a fourth Knight appear out of nowhere to plunge a sword underneath the man’s armpit a moment before the man’s blade entered Roscoe. The two combatants crashed to the ground in a crumpled heap to Roscoe’s side. He wanted to rush to the other Knight’s aid, but his body failed him again. As it turned out, the other Knight didn’t need any help. The man was dead.
Roscoe reached out his hand to thank the Knight for his assistance. “Thank you for saving me,” he said.

“I’ve been saving you since you were a toddler,” the Knight retorted.

His head spun when the Knight got to his feet, revealing the face of his cousin Conroe.