Aspiring.org goes international
Good day folks, or as they say where I am now dobry den (or ahoy).
I'm currently on holiday in in the beautiful city of Prague. Only been here a day, but the creative juices are flowing (get your mind out of the gutter I meant the intellectual ones). So far in MSC (Memoirs of a space corsair) we've not done much but there is our first proper space battle coming up, and some actual piracy - I'm going to base the world they go to fence.their ill gotten gains on the Czech capital I think. It makes sense, the more we leave where we came from, the more we try to capture the spirit of what we left... so in the future major colonies will be heavily influenced by their language/ethic groups in architecture and design. The architecture here is beautiful that it needs to be preserved in some fashion by the Czech speaking people 500 years from now.
I think it will be especially true of language/ethnic groups that lost much of their homes on Earth during the wars of 100 years from now. Well its war or catastrophic after affect of going over the green cliff (entirely depends how preachy I'm feeling when I write it).
Just need to break my current chapter and the show will really get going.
MSC – Nordenskjöld – Slavery
Title: Memoirs of a Space Corsair – Nordenskjöld – Slavery
Author: Jonathan L. Lawrence (Sage/JL Legend on this blog)
Genre: Science fiction
Word Count: 6,796
Warnings/Spoilers: There is violence, foul language, and references other things that may upset the reader, including reference to (but not description thereof) of non-consensual sexual activity.
Credits: Everyone who reads my blog, and has put up with my failed promises of writing, and those following me on Twitter that put up with my Tweets as I was writing and editing this.
Disclaimer: This is entirely an original story, all copyright to this works, and associated works with these characters and the universe I have created belong to me (Jonathan L. Lawrence) and me alone. I do not sanction the use of my ideas anywhere else, other than for linking back to source, and fair use. Please go here to learn more about copyright: Copyright Service
Summary: This is the third instalment in a regular series I am trying to create, set some five hundred years in the future; it follows the trial and tribulations of one man as he tries to survive in a hostile galaxy. In the process, he will become a famous pirate with a cause, a corsair. Arsène Frassin recounts to us himself his life, and we are still early in his adventures. HE has survived captured by pirates, and life in captivity, now the next phase begins – slavery. The fourth chapter in this tale will be forthcoming, however enjoy the third chapter. If you’ve not read the earlier chapters they can be found at:
1st Chapter – Captivity Part One – Terrors of Space
2nd Chapter – Captivity Part Two – Induction
It was maybe an hour after I gave my rousing speech that the door opened. Chris Garland, Connor Wilde, Tim Murail, Garth Bruch, and Terry (I didn’t yet know his real name), all gathered by me, I was now the de facto leader of our motley group. We were waifs, captives of unknown people, some of us had served with me as labourers aboard the Reina del Mar, a luxury space liner, the others had their own stories, all of us had our horrors to bear. However an hour before we had declared ourselves survivors, and whatever was thrown at us with this door opening, after a month of captivity, we would survive, and eventually earn our freedom. That I swore to myself as much to the others.
We were currently held in quarantine with slavers, and the night before we had been told that today we would be sold. Slavery wasn’t practiced in the Epsilon Eridani system, which was home to a large number of us, and we didn’t really know what to expect, other than what we had read about, or seen in vids.
We had known the door was about to open, the light that came through the small window in the door had been blocked briefly. Now as the door opened, we saw a man stood there. Previously, the only outsiders we had seen had been masked, in case we carried an infection of some variety, but this man had no mask.
I recognised him immediately from his eyes though, he had pretty much been with us since we arrived from our capture and transit by pirates to this space station. I didn’t know him really, he had barely said a word, but at the same time, I did have an affinity with him, having been with us since the beginning.
“Out,” he said in English, but with an accent I didn’t recognise, but gestured us to follow him.
We did as we were told, we had no option, the previous night, we had acted out against a traitor in our midst, and we had seen how they dealt with us. I still ached from the repeated hits by some sort of club or bat that had shocked me even as it battered me. Connor too knew the terrifying effect of those bats, having led the violence and earned a beating following by a club to the head with one of those things. Fortunately other than pain, it didn’t seem to have lasting effects, or I would have dreaded what a blow to the head with one could have done.
As we stepped into the corridor, there were wash basins, and fresh overalls to change into. This usually happened once a week, but we had been through this yesterday - obviously we were to look clean and healthy before being sold in. Maybe it raised the price, we had been told by the traitor that fit and healthy slaves sold better, that is why we had had the relative comforts of our current cell.
A prison was a prison to me back then, but I must admit, it was a massive improvement on the month or so, we had spent in transit aboard the pirate ship that brought us to this station, there we had lived in squalid filth, with the only consideration to our wellbeing, a tube that fed a slop into a trough for us to eat. Here we had been fed meat and vegetables, given medication, been allowed to wash, and had a form of toilet to use, rather than just a corner of our cell.
All in all, looking back it may have been a cage, but it had its comforts. None of us knew what comforts, if any, would exist as we left this place.
Some site admin stuff…
Okay, I've been making some changes to the design of Aspiring.org. Its with good reason, I loved the last look - but it was getting a bit dull, worse it wasn't the most pleasant feed to read large bodies of text from. Fine for poetry, not for story telling.
I quite like the current theme, it seems a bit easier to read, but I will keep looking for that one pristine reading theme. I was tempted to find a plug in though, that allowed categories to have different themes set from the default. May be too messy for my liking though, I like a theme to run through, suits the Virgo in me.
Another change I've made is to install a plug-in that links a page to a category, and in a quick format lists all posts in said category. I figure this would be more helpful for storing the posts, plus I can build up the blurb (which I keep meaning to do), to help maybe get a hit or two off the search engines. You can see the one for Memoirs of a Space Corsair here. I'll hopefully be doing one for poetry too, just to make everything nice and accessible, and its listed in order of publishing (where as right now if you go to a category you see the most recent post - the two different views will hopefully suit new visitors, and returning visitors as they like).
Speaking of hits from search engines, most of my search engine traffic comes from people searching for 27th birthday poems, I wonder what they thought of mine when that turned up as the number six search result in Google. Actually my post is slipping a bit, it was third in the rankings, still it intrigues me though, and I'm wondering what will happen to my 28th birthday poem this September.
Anyway, just a quick admin message, hopefully a new chapter will be up tomorrow, if not then next Saturday. I was going to try and get loads written this weekend, however I was distracted by an amazing 24 Hours of Le Mans race, which I stayed up for and watched mostly from beginning to end (I think I clocked 20 hours, with two naps to see me through), and then of course an equally amazing (but thankfully shorter), formula one race from Canada. An absolutely fantastic weekend of sport, the only blip being a poor performance by England in the World Cup, but I'm not as into football, and not as excited as I usually am about the World Cup, so it didn't spoil anything. I'll also get some notes and thoughts about MSC written up - which I'm shaping into an authors commentary, over time.
Lastly if you have any problems with the new layout let me know, unless its to say I've no sense of style and/or colour, I already know but you can say so anyway.
MSC – Captivity Part Two – Induction
Title: Memoirs of a Space Corsair - Captivity Part Two - Induction
Author: Jonathan L. Lawrence (Sage on this blog)
Genre: Science fiction
Word Count: 7,863
Warnings/Spoilers: There is violence, foul language, and conditions of torture that may be uncomfortable for some
Credits: Everyone who reads my blog, and has put up with my failed promises of writing, and those following me on Twitter that put up with my Tweets as I was writing and editing this.
Disclaimer: This is entirely an original story, all copyright to this works, and associated works with these characters, and the universe I have created belong to my (Jonathan L. Lawrence), and me alone. I do not sanction the use of my ideas anywhere else, other than for linking back to source, and fair use. Please go here to learn more about copyright: Copyright Service
Summary: This is the second instalment in a regular series I am trying to create, set some five hundred years in the futures, it follows the trial and tribulations of one man as he tries to survive in a hostile galaxy. In the process, he will become a famous pirate with a cause, a corsair. However, we’re not there yet, first we must learn where our intrepid anti-hero comes from, this second chapter follows on directly from the events of the first, after being captured by an unknown party from the Reina del Mar, a luxury liner, and seeing many of his friends die, or be maimed, he know must traverse a new reality, and find the steel within himself to be who he must be to survive. The third chapter in this tale will be forthcoming, however enjoy the second chapter. If you've not read the first chapter, it can be found here.
As I wallowed, selfishly, in my own misery, after having dug for days through foul refuse, I barely even registered the jolt in the room. Chris did however.
"What was that?" he exclaimed.
"What?" I asked, only realising the jolt had happened after I responded.
"I felt it," Garth said, "The whole room bumped."
"What do you think it was?" Tim asked.
None of us knew, but we hoped it was the start of the end of our captivity. Whatever it was, for the first time since we had been locked up, it was a change to our situation not of our own making. We had been in our cell for weeks, during that time we had seen neither sight nor sound of anyone else, but the four of us here. We had been captured on the Reina del Mar, a luxury space cruiser, where we each of the four were labourers. With me were Chris (a good friend), and two others, Tim and Garth, who I wasn't that well acquainted with. I think, had things worked out differently, all four of us would have had a bond for life having shared the same hell.
If we thought that jolt was somehow exciting, half an hour later we practically jibbering hens as sirens went off.
"What is it?" we asked in various forms, as if more information would be revealed by repeatedly asking.
The siren paid us no heed though, it just kept going. It was a klaxon noise, a high pitched noise, followed two lower pitch noises.
It was Garth who recognised it first.
"It’s a docking alarm," Garth said, feeling a bit of confidence from how we suddenly all gathered round him, he was now the centre of our group, the man with the information.
"Go on," we urged him.
"Well back on the Reina del Mar, I do some work in the cargo hold when we docked at stations. That sounds like the buzzer that was used when the cargo doors opened," he said proudly informing us. "We must have docked," he added.
"Wonder where we are?" Chris asked.
Garth just shrugged, he had given us all the information we had. It didn't stop us speculating, and for the next hour, in fact that’s all we did.
Our theories ranged from the rescue we all hoped for by one of the major navies of this area of space, to the less certain prospect of one pirate ship in battle with another, that was now being boarded.
We had no real ideas, until there was another jolt, this one was much heavier, and definitely involved our area of the ship. We had the sensation of being moved, (something you don't really feel on a ship, due to the inertial dampeners in place, and the gravity plating commonly employed on large ships), with the occasional sudden jolt. We were sent careening across the room one time at a sudden sharp jolt.
After that there was nothing, even the sound of the klaxon was replaced by silence. By now were tired, smelly, dirty, bruised, battered and hungry, Garth had a nose bleed from when he fell. We were completely miserable and would have done anything to escape - only there was absolutely nothing left to do, but wait.
As it was, we only had to wait an hour (as far as I could estimate), before there was activity once more. This time noises came from the door, a stiff cranking sound, followed by a hiss of depressurisation.
MSC – Captivity Part One – Terrors of Space
Title: Memoirs of a Space Corsair - Captivity Part One - Terrors of Space
Author: Jonathan L. Lawrence (Sage on this blog)
Genre: Science fiction
Word Count: 6,192
Warnings/Spoilers: There is a bit of violence, foul language, and conditions of torture that may be uncomfortable for some
Credits: Everyone who reads my blog, and has put up with my failed promises of writing, and those following me on Twitter that put up with my Tweets as I was writing and editing this.
Disclaimer: © Jonathan L. Lawrence, 2010. This is entirely an original story, all copyright to this works, and associated works with these characters, and the universe I have created belong to me, (Jonathan L. Lawrence), and me alone. I do not sanction the use of my ideas anywhere else, other than for linking back to source, and fair use. Please go here to learn more about copyright: Copyright Service
Summary: This is the first instalment in a regular series I am trying to create, set some five hundred years in the futures, it follows the trial and tribulations of one man as he tries to survive in a hostile galaxy. In the process, he will become a famous pirate with a cause, a corsair. However, we’re not there yet, first we must learn where our intrepid anti-hero comes from, this first chapter is about his launch into space, and the terrifying consequences of his reach for the stars. The second chapter in this tale will be forthcoming, however in the meantime enjoy this opening salvo of what will hopefully be a long and fulfilling tale.
It’s been a hell of a life.
I don't know who will read this or why, maybe it will make this humble man famous, and infuriate those that mean my end. I do not know. I can only hope, a true account of my life leaks out, and pisses off those that seek to vilify me, more than my due anyway. In small acts of vengeance a wrong man can find comfort I guess.
I sit here writing this in relatively sanitary conditions, (compared with some of my other experiences), a prisoner of corruption and criminals, you probably know the type, the ones that style themselves as "leaders of men", the governments of this galaxy.
If this is the end, it’s been a hell of a life, and I wanted to tell my side of it.
My name is Arsène Frassin, formerly of Pôle Nord, Epsilon Eridani c.
I was born there sixty-four years ago, in the Spring of 2522 (or 392PC depending on where you’re from). My father was a bureaucrat, a port accountant, my mother a store clerk at our town's OriMart (a retail wholesaler). You might think, given the account of my life I am about to retell, I would have had a hard, or repressive childhood, but actually it was okay, until I ventured into space. I went to a middle of the road school, nothing fancy, but efficient, well meaning, and thorough, did well enough academically, though I would say that it left me completely unprepared for the realities of life – there are some things I have learnt you just can’t teach, but I wish they could have.
On our town habitat on Eridani c, near the poles (appropriately named Pôle Nord as I mentioned), most of the business and job opportunities revolved around trade, transport and administration. Areas near the poles are the easiest and most efficient to land ships, and have them take off again after. Even with the relatively light atmosphere and gravity of our small planet, this was important. My first job was with the warehouse retailer where my mother worked, however I soon found it wasn't the career for me. I tried to join the local civil service, however times were tough and they weren't employing, despite my father’s position (which was recognised for its importance). Staying in our home city was limiting, it was a specialised place, however all my life I had watched ships land and take off, ships that had drifted among the stars themselves, travelling from world to world, across vast distances.
That I knew, back then, was what I wanted to do. I wanted to sail through the vastness of space, see alien worlds, and become one with the stars. I really did describe it as such back then, the wonders of youth, the poetical vision. I could have sought employment in other areas of our world, my education was good enough to apprentice in a number of positions, but space filled my vision and my dreams.
The following year I was old enough (15) to accept a commission aboard a star liner, and I signed up straight away. Star Liners were huge ships, carrying masses of people, and tonnes of cargo, and they were always hiring. I was to be a cleaner, I reasoned, being smart, and eager I would quickly rise up the ranks, and such a lowly position wouldn’t hold me for long, so it didn’t matter as long as I was sailing. Again the wonders of youth at such an innocent view of life, optimism abounded as I ventured into unknown waters.
I had only a week to get ready after signing up before I was to leave aboard the behemoth ship. I bid my farewells to my family, travelled round, having meals with relatives that I wouldn't see again for four years (which was a "season", or the standard length of a single term commission aboard space craft back then).
The ship I was commissioned on was the Norstel Spaceways deluxe cruiser Reina del Mar, which was only a moderate size ship, but of opulent quality for its high fare paying guests, and more than big enough to make my eyes bulge as I watched out through a scope hovering in space as its shuttles ferried back and forth.
Another update – but good news!
Well the time has finally come, I'm going to actually show some brand new original writing on my part.
The first two chapters of my Memoirs of a Space Corsair are completed, and edited (though I offer no gaurentee to the quality of my self-editing, especially in the small hours of the morning). I've really gone for a bleak start to my characters adventures, and the third chapter will largely be bleak, though of course I can not keep it in such bleak a circumstance, I'm fairly sure if it continued into a fourth chapter, Arsène Frassin (my main character), would probably but aside his principles and simply off himself. He's been through a lot, poor lad.
Hopefully these first two chapters give you a hint of the potential in this boy, trapped by circumstance. It is the foundation for the character, and ultimately the whole series of stories I have planned.
Hopefully, once we move out of these initial chapters, each entry will actually work as its own short story, but feed into the overall plot I intend. However, I must admit, the first three chapters, and possibly into the fourth are sequential, and intended to be read as such. I want to try and keep a word count of between 5,000 and 10,000 per instalment, just because its neater than trying to read 30,000 words in a single posting, and more convenient for the style of writing I want to achieve. As we do move into later chapters, and each adventure is one instalment (albeit with the possibility of an adventure or two being split across two instalments), it should feel a bit more like the pulp fiction of the first half of the twentieth century. I suppose I should come up with a garish and extravagant cover or two to go with milestones in my story.
I am finding this project very exciting, and its been relatively easy to write (albeit in between work, and family), but I can honestly say, the editing has been a lot tougher. I'm sure if I were to re-read either chapter through right now, I'd probably find another hour or two of changes to be made. There is little time for that before the first chapter publishes, so I shall let it lie, plenty of time before the scheduler posts up the second chapter though.
I had to have a little think about the impact of posting a story online, just as with poetry, I want to share my creative works, but a part of you does wonder, what would I do if someone misappropriated my ideas? I've of course added "© Jonathan L. Lawrence, 2010", but also a disclaimer at the beginning, spelling out that this is mine, and mine alone. This may be overkill - however when I ran forum for writers, way back when, the issue of copyright did come up, and I can appreciate the wronged parties point of view.
I want to do a post on copyright, (I did do one previously, but it was more an idea, rather than a real look at the subject), and will probably do this week. I sometimes think copyright isn't really reflective of the time, yet at the same time, I want my creative works protected as I share it with the world. There has to be a balance somewhere, and maybe it lies with the creators rather than the law to find that balance. Of course I am, in my small, untalented way, a creator, so I'm biased.
Anyway, I hope you read and enjoy the first two chapters, and I hope not keep those that do enjoy it waiting with the third and fourth.
Au revoir,
Sage
P.S. Feedback, good or bad, is always welcome - it makes me feel important that someone felt enough about what I've written that they would say something about it. I am an egotist after all is said and done, otherwise I wouldn't be here. Plus, it might just help shape me into a real writer, then if I was ever published, I'd have to acknowledge your contribution - (bribery gets you everywhere, or it does in Arsène's corrupt world).
Its Been A While
Reports of my demise, well weren't really reported at all - but if they were, they weren't true. I'm still here, this heart of mine beats its strong baddum baddum.
It has been a while since I posted, and the last time I posted I admitted failure, I had lost NaNoWrimo09, however it wasn’t the end of the world. Unfortunately, the writers block didn’t stay long gone, and since then I’ve struggled to write again. Even the words for blogging just wouldn’t come. As I said though, its not the end of the world. It never really is, however depressing it feels. That said, I’m feeling ready to write again, a whole chasm of ideas has started to fill the void where inspiration had previously been lacking.
I also have a brand new toy to help with my writing. Since I switched to using the Nokia 5800, I’ve been struck by the lack of keyboard, and many key features of my beloved Nokia E71, so until I get another new phone that combines the great features of the E71, and the 5800 – I needed a filler, which was either going to be a carrying my laptop everywhere, or gadget time. The gadget in question is an electronic pen. I got the cheapest one I could – however it is incredibly amazing. Forget your iPads, and you tablets, the future is pen and paper!
I’ve never been adverse to handwriting my fiction – in fact I find it far easier to transfer my thoughts to paper than to a screen, however I fail at typing up, and at some point I’m going to get stuck because my handwritten pages are hard to read, and get damaged, or go missing. There is no way I can type up thirty thousand words of my handwriting, especially not when most of my writing time comes while travelling. However, the digital pen comes with software to not only catalogue your written word into a database, but to also convert it into text.
Obviously the catch here is that the quality of your handwriting will affect how well your scribbles can be converted into text, the software can’t make miracles. I’ve found, though, that as long as it can hit 70%, you’re correcting, not rewriting whole sections. Which suits me, as it lets me slip a bit of editing in the process.
I bought the most basic one I could find, (by basic read cheap), and the look of the product does reflect this – however the actual quality is so much better.
It comes in two parts, the pen, and the sensor that does the recording. You clip your sensor to the top of the page, and then start writing. When you complete a page, you hit the button, and it starts a new one in memory. Best gadget buy of the year for me, its going to take a lot to top that. Here’s a link to the one I bought: http://bit.ly/bKV5OG
Hopefully that’s going to help me achieve some writing – but toys themselves aren’t whats necessary, I realise now I’ve been having real difficulties at focusing on the tasks I set myself. So I need to work on my habits – and this is a general life thing, rather than specifically a writing thing. So I’m going to introduce some new behaviours, such as going to a coffee shop once a week to chill out, and read or write. Getting back to going to the gym, get myself fit, doing more puzzles to get my brain engaged, rather than switching off the second my mind wanders. I should probably stop making lists of things I intend to do – but we all have our vices. There are never any promises with me, I get distracted far too easily to even promise myself something – but I’m going to try. Writing isn’t just about writing, its about making better worlds, and better people to me, especially a better me.
In the mean time, I think I'm going to spend this week writing a couple of three hundred word short stories, just to get myself warmed up for the rest of the year to come.
NaNoWriMo 2009 is a go!
Weeks of anticipation, preparation, and nerves have finally lead to the start of NaNoWriMo 2009.
It started at midnight, and so did I, or close enough (what I actually did was start the procastination early, by waiting an hour to start while I worked on a spreadsheet to track my writing... erm oops). Anyway, today I went to Café Latino in Leeds, met up with another writer doing NaNoWriMo, and we got to work properly on writing our novels.
I'd like to say I'm target, but I'm about four thousand words short as it stands, and annoyingly I'm currently averaging a very poor, and very slow four hundred and fifty three words an hour, I'm not really sure why, the ideas there. Hopefully when a few more characters turn up, and we get some good interaction (not just phone calls), the words will start to flow.
My ideal is to do ten thousand words a day at weekends, with an extra five thousand on a Friday night. Now I know this isn't entirely sustainable, which is where week nights come in, they're my bonus rounds where I can pick a few extra on the word counts, but I can also take some time to create and organise notes, drawings, and do plans to help me at the weekends. The weekend and Fridays plan brings me to my target of one hundred thousand words, across two stories - and thats where I need to focus my efforts.
I don't really need to feel too bad about not hitting target today, this Sunday is an extra, above and beyond the plan, so any words today, just help take a bit of pressure off later on. However, aside from a few chores, and writing this entry I'll be writing right up until bedtime. Sadly this year there won't be any bus writing, my little netbook is still out of order (bang out of order as it were), and I'm confined to using my seventeen inch monster laptop which is just about portable, if I'm writing in a café, or some such, not really something I can sit on a bus with.
I am feeling really confident about this year though, I've got a good plan, and some great ideas. There's a lot of pressure, but I write better with pressure, its how I made it last year, when I did 80% of my novel in just ten days, right at the end.
I'm going to try and fit in time to keep writing here, this is what my blog is for, writing, and discussing writing, and this is the month I'm going to be doing lots of it, so i'll have plenty to discuss.
To all everyone doing NaNoWriMo out there, I wish you all the best of luck.
Only Days to Go to NaNoWriMo…
We're into the last few days before NaNoWriMo starts (on 1st November), I'll be setting up my blog to handle track my progress. Of course being a geek I've got a spreadsheet up, that provides me with a weatlh of statistics based on putting in the current word count, and the amount of hours I've been writing each day. Plus graphs. It's not quite finished yet, was working on it late, and some of the formulae were getting a bit complex, (that happens a lot when I'm tired, bt easily cleaned up on a fresh day).
I've signed up a second account on NaNoWriMo, I'm aiming for 100,000 words this time round. I've know the provisional plots, and a few characters already. Hardest part is focusing my thoughts onto one story at a time.
My plan is to do 50,000 words a fortnight. Thus working the two stories seperately.
The first is a private detective story, featuring a character that has a lot of issues, but is actually reasonably young (mid-20's). It works in my head, ihe's a rich man's son, and running a failing business he has no real experience in is his form of rebelling against his father. I've had this idea since earlier in the year, originally it was going to be my ScriptFrenzy attempt, however I never got started, it's a good enough idea to warrant pushing through though.
The second of my stories will be a post apocalyptic fight for survival, which is actually a tale of chaos versus morality - when my protagonist and antagonist are at logger heads in humanity's last survivor colony (as far as they know, though aside from drifters, and roving bands of people no people from outside of their area will feature). I'm not going to spoil the nature of the apocalypse, or who the characters are, and how it plays out - but I find this one really exciting., thought not entirely original of me. I'm actually reading On The Beach at the moment by Nevil Shute, it's an absolutely fantastic book (not finished yet), and it definately inspired this idea (that and several conversations of late on similar ground).
I'm really looking forward to NaNoWriMo now, the fear of writers block has gone, and I'm sure I can plow straight in, and start banging out those pages (285.5 of them).
Where’s the Inspiration?
A man walks onto the scene, he strolls with forced assuredness, yet you can read in his body language he's not as confident as he'd like to be, he eyes the megaphone in his hand cautiously, before coming to a step. He lifts the megaphone up, taps the small end, then raises it to his mouth, before clearing his throat, "Ahem!", then he queries, "Is this thing on?", his words boom out of the megaphone's big end. He laughs nervously in response to the annoyed stairs he receives.
The man stands there a few moments before finally seeming to get the confidence to raise the microphone to his mouth again, as he megaphone reaches position this time his cheeks take on a bit of velour, and his eyes seem ablaze, he takes a deep meaningful breath, and speaks into the megaphone,
"Right, listen up," now all eyes are on him, only they're attentive rather than annoyed, "I demand to know where my inspiration is! I think it's wholly unfair that you've abandoned me right now. I need you, I can't write without you. Without you these pages are blank, and what words come are empty.
"Inspiration I've never needed you so bad, I've got all these things to do, and you've abandoned me, given up the fight, and now I stand alone against the tide of battle.
"I beg you return to me your charm, your talent. Words are meaningless without you!"
The audience looks rapt, his words have moved them, they feel his desperation, and they ponder borrowing the megaphone.
The man looks down upon his audience, upon their swept up faces, he watches the emotions play across their faces. Then a thought dawns in his mind, a realisation, maybe even epiphany.
What the man realised was this - inspiration is hard to achieve, but it can hit at the strangest moments, and all you can do is find the nearest waiting apparatus and take advantage.
Everyone has different things that inspires them to write, and inspires what to write. For myself these are most often two different events, for others they might be most often the same.
There is also another possibility one without the other, which can either be liberating or frustrating, for example:
- I may have a brilliant idea what to write, but no inspiration (will) to write it - so it all plays out in my head because try as I might I can't convert it into words. Obviously a form of writers block.
- Something may give me inspiration (the will) to write, but without any inspiration. Here my mind, and the paper is ab empty canvas, and I can just let my thoughts flow freely. Probably doesn't make for great reading, but it's fun and liberating for me.
Everybody is different when it comes to inspiration, I know all too well what holds true for me, is complete gibberish to another. In broad strokes, I have probably captured the general forms of inspiration.
In terms of what inspires me to write (gives me the will), it falls down to three categories: the outdoors (nature, weather, scenery, architecture, etc...), other people's creativity (a book, a film, a piece of music, also biographical information about a creative person, or someone who's faced adversity in their life), and challenges (nothing gets my creative juices better than a bit of competition).
Sadly these things aren't guaranteed to get me writing, but most often once I start writing it's because I was inspired to by one of the above.
In terms of my inspiration what to write, it's usually something close to hand, something I've imagined happening, my emotional state (yes, I can be a bit emo in my poetry), or a need to impress others so I can belong, and validate myself.
I've written about many things, from religion to coke cans, from fantasyic tales to mundane moments of life, and from historical events to nature.
Sometimes my indpirations puts me on the path to something specific, sometimes it's just the starting point, or catalyst for a cascade of ideas.
I will say this, whatever the idea, I do love it when it happens, it's a veritable joy to let poetry over take me, a joy and love that only falls short of sex.
As I'm getting older, inspiration is getting harder - dry spells last longer, but when the floodgates open, I feel sure the joy is deeper, as I come to appreciate it more.
Still I would live in those moments more if I were able to, giving myself over to the wild abandon of inspiration.
So I feel abandoned when inspiration doesn't come, and call to it from my megaphone, hoping to attract it back. For me my megaphone is going to beautiful places, reading and listening to music, and entering challenges - hoping beyond hope, inspiration heads my call and answers.
That's what inspiration is to me.
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