Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Writing What You Know

Writers are always told, "Write what you know." Here's what you'd get to read if we really did that.

The Battle

The chiming clock woke me from my restless slumber. Wrapping myself against the chill morn, I busied myself with typical morning tasks. It did not work. The more I tried to direct my thoughts away from the coming battle, the more the battle came to dominate those thoughts.

As I bathed, the warm water did not have its normal soothing effect. My mind continued to dwell on the fight that lay before me.

I dressed slowly, pretending to consider various garments before selecting my clothing for the day. All too soon, I was clothed and could delay no longer.

I went to where my wife sat, kissed her and said, "Once more into the breach, my dear."

With that, I set forth to do battle. Shortly, the darkened threshold lay before me. Pausing briefly, I took a deep breath and then entered. Though it was dark beyond the portal, I could make out the form of my adversary laying before me. I could delay no longer.

"Time to get up, son!" I said.

"Five more minutes, Dad!" my son murmured from beneath the covers.

And so the battle was joined.

The Journey

As was my wont in those days, I frequently journeyed away from hearth and home, away from kith and kin. These trips were fraught with peril as my very life was in the hands of others. Just as, briefly, their lives were in my hands. It was for that reason I always kept my head clear and my hands free as I traveled.

The roaring beasts that conveyed us all on our journeys were fickle creatures. Left unattended for but a scant few seconds, our beasts would turn upon one another, biting deeply into another beast's flanks or rear haunches; sometimes even challenging other beasts head on. Those last were the worst as many beasts died in the challenges, maiming or even killing their riders in the process.

Today was no different. I guided my aging beast in and among younger, larger, stronger beasts as best I could. Hemmed in on all sides, I kept careful control of my beast while hoping the riders around me would do the same. At times, smaller, faster, more agile beasts darted in and out among those who towered above them. I knew not whether to admire those riders for the daring and curse them for fear their sudden movements might spook the larger beasts into attacking me.

By the grace of the gods, once again I reached my destination unscathed. Tethering my beast, I stood on my own two feet. I was pleased. Once again I had arrived at work early enough to get one of the good parking spaces.


The Escape

I sat hunched in my cubicell, pretending full concentration on a menial task. In truth, my attention lay elsewhere. Furtive glances confirmed that the other inmates in my cubicell block had been been summoned before the warden. I would not have to deal with pleas of "Take me with you!" or fear one of them might alert the authorities. I was determined not to serve my full sentence. Unlike my fellow inmates, I would break out rather than wait for the authorities to release me!

With the first part of my escape path clear, I stood. Pretending to stretch, my gaze swept over the tops of the cubicell walls to the rest of the facility. The way was clear! It was time to go.

Slipping out of my cubicell, I stole from the cubicell block towards an unguarded exit. The last few feet were the most dangerous as I was forced to pass the guards' primary place of gathering. The door was closed, which was good, but voices issued from the room beyond the door. Feigning nonchalance, I attempted to slip past the door.

Suddenly, the door was flung open wide, a guard silhouetted in the doorway.

"Henry, just the man I was looking for!" he said. "We need you in here to explain some of these bugs you reported. You can work late tonight, right?

A Trip To the Library

After a fruitless search for interesting reading material, I approached the librarian for suggestions.

"Can I help you?" she asked, smiling.

I refrained from correcting her grammar. After all, I was the one requesting help.

"Yes, please," I replied. "I'm looking for something good to read, preferably something epic."

"Ah, I have just the thing!" she said. "Have you read anything by J. R. R. Tolkien?"

"Never heard of him," I replied.

"Then let me recommend his
Professor of English Literature trilogy," she said. "It's all about the fourteen years Tolkien spent teaching English Literature at Oxford!"

"That sounds...boring," I said.

"Boring?" she asked. "You think a trilogy filled with battles to bring knowledge to undisciplined youth, duels of wit at tea time with the rest of the faculty and the ultimate quest for tenure sounds boring?"

"Yes."

"You're right," she signed. "It's deadly dull. So, something exciting, you say. Hm... How about a biography? Stephen Decatur led quite an exciting military life."

"I've read it," I said. "I've read all the biographies that are interesting. Don't you have anything different?"

"Different how?" she asked.

"I don't know," I replied. "Something...made up, perhaps?"

"What an appalling thought!" she exclaimed. "Writers can't just make things up! They must write what they know!"

As I turned away, I heard her muttering, "Make things up? The very
idea is ridiculous!"

The End

Okay, I made that last up. Librarians the world over are appalled.

1 comment:

MacLaren said...

I finally got to read your entry. Fantastic!