Marginalia

Once when I was a boy I rode out in the general direction of the Twiceborn King, with some fantasy of burying my stolen sword up to the hilt in his undead flesh. I had only a vague idea of where I was going, and no idea of what I’d do once I got there. I made my way from village to hamlet, but before I got to see any battles or castles or magic, before I’d even crossed the river, my father caught up with me and wrestled me home. I’m glad he did. Farm work had made me more than strong enough to swing the sword around, but in my hands it was just a club. I had no coin. No plan. I’d have been just another rotting body in the Twiceborn army by the time the Protagonist arrived to destroy it.

Read about a character dissatisfied with his place in the story in Marginalia, reprinted in Spillwords. 🙂

Pretend I Wrote a Thing

blank notebook

Pretend I wrote a thing.

Fill the blank page with syllables that sing,
a crescendo of cascading consonants.
Alliteration? You bet your
associations can be played with.

Imagine some nice imagery,
like a simile,
or a metaphor’s needle threading the present
to a fond scent, sound, or sight from your past.

Everyone likes haikus
So count yourself one of those
Three lines, 5-7-5

If you like enjambment, you can have it
then marshal your best franglais to pronounce it
as you recall a teacher explaining what it is
while you texted under the desk.

Add a rhyme scheme,
an intriguing theme,
an evocative scene
with subtextual sheen.

Pretend I wrote a thing
so I don’t have to.

Marginalia

 

Once when I was a boy I rode out in the general direction of the Twiceborn King, with some fantasy of burying my stolen sword up to the hilt in undead flesh. I had only a vague idea of where I was going, and no idea of what I’d do once I got there. I made my way from village to hamlet, but before I got to see any battles or castles or magic – before I’d even crossed the river – my father caught up with me and wrestled me home. I’m glad he did. Farm work had made me more than strong enough to swing the sword around, but in my hands it was just a club. I had no coin. No plan. I’d just have been another rotting body in the Twiceborn army by the time the Protagonist arrived to destroy it.

Read my short story, ‘Marginalia’, published in the first issue of Beyond Worlds magazine, here.