Writing Joy

Like many others, my writing muse went to sleep during the long isolation of covid and I was even considering giving up on writing and sketching when, in frustration I turned to an old Bernard Cornwell and found –

“Darkness. Winter. A night of frosts and no moon.

We floated on the River Themes, and beyond the boat’s high bow I could see the stars reflected on the shimmering water. The river was in spate as melted snow fed in from countless hills …

We spoke in whispers. The night was full off noises. The water rippled, the bare branches clattered in the wind, a night creature splashed into the river, a vixen howled like a dying soul, and somewhere an owl hooted. The boat creaked. Sihtric’s stone hissed and scraped on the steel, A shield thumped against a rower’s bench. I dared not speak louder, despite the night’s noises, because the enemy ship was upstream of us … “

I read and felt the old desire to create surge again. It’s not the desire to make money, just a need to create something that comes from beyond the ordinary. I don’t want to imitate Bernard Cornwell, that would be stupid, but I do want to hear my own voice. For those who don’t write, this may seem fanciful but there is a joy, like the battle joy Cornwell talk of in his books, when you know the story is good and the words are drawing emotional pictures. The truth is, I don’t want to sell it, I want to share it.