I have decided to take up this Author Up Challenge over at She’s Novel. I will attempt to make it 30 consecutive days, but we’ll see. I know my horrible track record when it comes to long periods of posting everyday. I’d rather get all the way through the challenge then to get halfway and get frustrated with myself for missing a day or two. My goal is completion. Consistency would be a great added bonus.
Each day has a fairly simple and kind of vague writing challenge. For example, the first one:
Day 1: Write in the First Person
The email had some ideas to get you started with writing deep into the character and even a starter sentence writing prompt, but I remembered one I’d seen on Pinterest yesterday, and decided to use that one:
I’ll admit right off, I’ve been in quite the sappy romantic mood this weekend. (I read the first three books of the Lunar Chronicles by Marissa Meyer and so enjoyed them that I’m now anxiously awaiting the fourth book.) So that romanticism may have seeped into the idea I had brewing for this challenge. A little.
I hold his sword and I wonder if he was a brave man. Did he go valiantly to his death or did he beg and bargain for his life?
From the craftsmanship of the sword, a good steel blade with no chips or pits, and the breastplate that would surely shine if not for the layer of mud tinted with blood, I imagine he was a knight. All knights are gallant and true, this knight being no exception.
I see the shining knight on his white horse. The sun, halfway up its journey to the heights of heaven, shines behind him, making him brilliant as God Himself. Pennants of red and gold flutter above him and across his chest and shield, leaving no question of his loyalty.
The knight’s eyes flare like burning emeralds from beneath the visor of his helm as he shouts encouragement to his men. He inspires bravery in them and fear in his enemies. Though he is hopelessly outnumbered, he takes down a score, no two, before his many wounds prove fatal. Even with his dying breath he tells his men to fight on and protects his fallen horse next to him.
Beside where I picked up the sword, I find a tattered, muddied cloth. It must have been the favor of a lady fair, for luck and the hope of safe return. “Take my token with you, sir knight,” I whisper, speaking her final words once more to the fallen champion. “Be protected by God and love.”
Why is fate so cruel?
My heart aches with the unjustness of it as I clutch the sword and the soiled handkerchief.
“Anya! Finish up over there! It’s getting late and I want out of this stinking field.” Ulric’s voice comes to my ears impatient as always. It’s harsh tone and loud volume turn my fantasies to scattered tendrils of memory, blown by the wind and snatched away by plump crows.
He gazes hard at me, then shakes his head, pulling the dingy handkerchief back over the lower part of his face. He goes back to his searching, tugging behind him a cart full of swords and pieces of armor and other valuables glinting in the late afternoon sun.
I try to reclaim the story of my white knight, but he is gone. Nothing but the ghosts of this place remain.
I curtsy, solemnly, to the knight. “Rest in peace, good sir.”
Then I too continue on, dragging along my own cart. It thuds and clatters along through mudholes and over the splayed limbs half-buried there. The cart grows in weight as does my wandering mind.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story and all related material are the original works of Awaiting the Muse and Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti. All rights reserved.
Awaiting the Muse by Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at https://awaitingthemuse.wordpress.com/.