Renethin

Here's just a little bit of the story I'm working on. I just started it a week or so ago. I don't think it will end up being very long. It's the one based on the Book of Mormon . . . :)

Chapter One

Renethin

Renethin gazed down upon the destruction which stretched below him as far as his eyes could penetrate the enshrouding mists. The battle had ended only moments ago as the last soldier had fallen, whether dead or only wounded, he knew not. The silence which followed was almost more deafening than was the uproar of bloodshed. Deep sorrow entered his heart as he painfully contemplated how many of these men, either dead or dying, had wives, children, mothers and fathers of their own, and how they would never return.

Wrenching his eyes from the desolation, Renethin flicked the reins and his faithful horse, Dulnar, obediently turned away and slowly walked over the hills on the path they both so well knew from the days of peace.

As the sun rose higher in the morning sky, the fog lessened, and Renethin was able to see clearly once again. The hills were no longer rolling, but rather looked as if a giant had simply thrown the earth casually in a heap upon the ground. The land was barren. Only the stray cluster of weeds lived here among the stones and ground trampled by the hooves of thousands of horses and the feet of thousands of men.

“Dulnar, do you remember how beautiful this once was?” Renethin said softly, his voice almost inaudible in his remorse. The white mare nodded slightly. Despite everything, Renethin smiled. Dulnar was his most loyal friend, who, though a horse, had been through almost everything with him. Suddenly the area no longer seemed so desolate, so dreary.

Inspiration

This is sort of an add-on to the post I did yesterday on ideas.

Here's another tip: let yourself be inspired. I already gave some examples in the last post, but here are some more.

Today I went to a funeral. (I didn't know the person who died, I was just asked to sing Amazing Grace.) The man who passed away has a brother who is so devastated by the death that he has almost literally stopped functioning. Sad, I know. I wished I could just shout out to them about the Plan of Salvation, but I'm not sure how well they would have taken that, being an Armenian family. But as I was saying, he was devastated until he has stopped functioning, and although that's terrible, my constant thought is, "What if there was a brother who died, and that guy's brother almost stopped wanting to live?" Wouldn't that be a cool addition to a story? How tragic!

Let me think of another example of inspiration.

I'm laughing at myself right now. :) My favorite inspiration is the Book of Mormon, to tell the truth. I mean, think about it! Captain Moroni, the Army of Helaman, Nephi moving across the seas, Mormon taking down the history of this once-great civilization, and Moroni, the last Nephite of all. Just look at those story ideas! And you can't forget Ameleckiah! Or Ammoron! ULTIMATE BAD GUYS RIGHT THERE! And Gadianton, and Kishkuman, and everything! I've let myself be inspired by these histories. And I've come up with my own story that closely follows the lines of the histories. Maybe I'll post it sometime. :)

Well, now you know how much I love the Book of Mormon . . . especially Captain Moroni and Ammon and Alma the Younger and--I'll just stop there . . . But I was talking about inspiration. So my tip right now is to let yourself be inspired by anything you see, hear, read, or do.

The Pirate Sisters-Park

Hey guys!
It's Emily Parker or Madeline Parks (pen name) here!

I love to write stories, and I have finally finished my first novel ever: The Pirate Sisters, and it is 65,000 words long, a little bit bigger than Fablehaven!

I love it, but the more I think about the cheesier I realize it is...but besides that, it was fun to write!
Here is the prologue: enjoy!

The Pirate Sisters

by Emily Parker

Prologue

The mother walked along, stumbling.

Clutched against her chest was a bundle:  her son, her only baby.  He was not a year old but all his life he had been threatened.  She had to protect him from his father.  

Her long red skirt dragged on the ground and once she almost tripped.  Luckily, the baby did not wake.  With a sigh, she pushed her light brown hair out of her eyes.  She was exhausted; late last night she had been gathering supplies for their brief journey--or escape.  

Early in the morning, she had crept in her husband’s cabin aboard his ship and took her child.  She had managed to row to the nearby island Amica, landing on the far side of the island where no one lived.  She had heard of the kind governor and his wife whom was heavy with child; surely, they would take her son in as a servant.  He would now be safe and not have to fear every time he woke up, believing that his father would beat him as he had beat her.

Fall had started, and even though it was always warm in the Caribbean, a cold breeze ruffled her hair.  She shivered in her thin crimson dress and pushed on.

But she was almost there.  

A few hours later, it was dusk, the sun setting in the Caribbean Sea.  She paused and looked across the waters.  She belonged there on a ship, seeing the world, and even her babe had taken his first steps not on land but on board a ship.  She smiled and caressed his chubby face with a bruised hand.  “It’s alright, my love.  You’re heart belongs to the sea.”

After another mile of walking on the beach, she could see the stone house.  But it was more like a mansion with it’s many polished windows, the well swept balcony, the pristine yard with all the imported and indigenous trees and cultured plants.  Servants did everything here.  She prayed the Bensens would take her son in.

In bare feet, she walked up the steps and tenderly placed the boy in front of the large door.  The sky was now a golden orange—she had to leave quickly.  Yet, how could she leave her baby?  A tear rolled down her cheek.  The baby opened his blue eyes, which mirrored her own.

“Sh, shh.  You will be okay.  I love you.”  She kissed the baby’s curly little head.  “Remember who you are, William.”  

The baby began to cry and the mother stood up.  She patted his cheek one more time, securing the note she had previously written on his blanket.  “Goodbye,” she whispered.  Voices were coming from inside the house.  She turned around and ran, disappearing into the jungle that bordered the mansion.  

She never saw him again.

If you want more, email me.  Thank you!

-Maddie