Intruder

While out on my morning walk - sans mp3 because it went pfft, that's right, pfft - I thought about the submission I'm writing. I really need to get rid of it, but the volume of information and informational sources are daunting. It would take some organisation to meld into a coherent and Minister-worthy report.

I'm wandering along, admiring the Bay - as you do - when into my head popped a scene: smoothly muscled barbarian, chained and angry, forced to kneeling on a flagstone floor by some nattily dressed guards; the king, resplendent in royal robes and pissed at being interrupted sneering at the aforementioned barbarian.

All dark and sinister thoughts of politics fled from the light of creation. For the rest of my walk, I thought on the barbarian: why was he there? What was his name? How had he been caught? And the king: What would he do? Why was he sneering? Why was he so pissed? And yes, I answered those questions and more; built the scenario in my head, the motivations, the consequences, the hopes and intentions of all the characters.

Once home, I set to writing notes and the first page. Then I stopped.

The submission. Bah. I could do... it... later? Nope.

And with that, the intruder story was set aside. No-o-o-ooo! Yes. In re-reading what I'd composed, it occurred to me that while the story has merit, oh, yes indeedy, it has an initial element of sameness, of a lack in creativity in the crafting. It began like most of my stories, and, to my eye, showed absolutely no advancement in learning this craft; no intricate and imaginative thought to the word selection, nothing to lure the reader in. It began, in fact, in cliche; nothing to lure the reader into the rest of the story.

So, I'm back writing the submission and will continue on it until it's done early next week. Then, by golly, by crikey, by jingo, I'll get to the story and finish it, hopefully with more flair than it's showing so far.