The writer's joy

 Like many others, my writing muse went to sleep during the long isolation of covid and I was even considering giving up on writing and sketching when, in frustration I turned to an old Bernard Cornwell and found -

"Darkness. Winter. A night of frosts and no moon.

We floated on the River Themes, and beyond the boat's high bow I could see the stars reflected on the shimmering water. The river was in spate as melted snow fed in from countless hills ...

We spoke in whispers. The night was full off noises. The water rippled, the bare branches clattered in the wind, a night creature splashed into the river, a vixen howled like a dying soul, and somewhere an owl hooted. The boat creaked. Sihtric's stone hissed and scraped on the steel, A shield thumped against a rower's bench. I dared not speak louder, despite the night's noises, because the enemy ship was upstream of us ... "

I read and felt the old desire to create surge again. It's not the desire to make money, just a need to create something that comes from beyond the ordinary. I don't want to imitate Bernard Cornwell, that would be stupid, but I do want to hear my own voice. For those who don't write, this may seem fanciful but there is a joy, like the battle joy Cornwell talk of in his books, when you know the story is good and the words are drawing emotional pictures. The truth is, I don't want to sell it, I want to share it.

http://sullatoberdalton.com




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