Hello everyone! Long time lurker here and big fantasy fan. If your story has a character that needs to give a speech, a legend or tale to be told, poems, or the general sort, I’m your gal.
Here’s a taste of one such poem:
The battle isn’t over yet. Don’t give up, don’t accept defeat, our debt to you is still unpaid.
From our fields we put down plow to take up sword. From our capitols we march to defend your homes. We will not let you fall this day, until our debt is repaid.
What power does the enemy hold to sway this battle to their victory? They will not win, not as long as we stand. Raise the banners high and advance, for we have come!
This battle was over the moment our forces set eyes on your besieged city. And it’s about time we learned what it feels like to win.
Perhaps you need an introduction to the story of your game, or just a start to a scene to get you going. Though more on the novel side…
She had no stories left. She sat in her rocking chair, the one that was her mother’s, and her mother’s mother’s and stared out the window. That was all she did these days. Rock and stare and rock and stare. She missed her Jimmy, who’d gone on to glory so many years ago. She had no children to comfort her at this, the end of her life. She’d gone game hunting in Africa, to London to see the queen’s coronation, taken in a few strays — both human and animal — in her years on this earth. And what of it? All of that and still, she ended up here. At the window, rocking and staring.The nurse cleared her throat.
“Miss Ida,” she said, “it’s time for your dinner.” Miss Ida didn’t turn, didn’t flinch, didn’t answer. Nurse sighed. It was this every day, every meal. The food came in and left undistrubed. It was almost like Miss Ida was wasting away on purpose. Nurse left the food, as she always did, on the tray on the table by sink, and made her way over to the window. She sat down next to Miss Ida and patted her hand.“Where are you?” she asked. Miss Ida never answered, but Nurse never stopped asking. Miss Ida was silent, her expression stony. She barely blinked. They sat like that for many long minutes, Miss Ida and Nurse. Finally, Nurse stood up. She had other duties to tend to, after all.
“Stop,” Miss Ida whispered, her voice more guttural than speech. Nurse stopped in her tracks and turned.
“Miss Ida, did you … speak?”
“Stop.”“Stop what?” Nurse asked, confused.
“Stop. Make it stop.”
Nurse walked back over to Miss Ida and checked to see that the old lady’s blanket was in place. Her oxygen line was secure. She didn’t look any sicklier than she always did.
“Miss Ida, what do you want me to stop?”
“Mem- … mem- … memories.” Miss Ida choked.Nurse sat back down, taking Miss Ida’s wrinkled hand in her own fleshy one, squeezing gently.
“Miss Ida,” Nurse said, “tell me your memories.” Miss Ida blinked once, twice and slowly turned her head, meeting Nurse’s gaze. Miss Ida’s eyes were watery, from old age or sadness, Nurse couldn’t tell, but was there really a difference? Nurse knew from her experience at the home that the two often went hand in hand.
“I lost him,” Miss Ida said. “I had him, then I lost him.” Nurse knew about Jimmy. It was in Miss Ida’s file.
“Jimmy, huh? You miss your man?” But Miss Ida only shook her head.
“I do miss my Jimmy. But he never knew there was a baby. I lost the baby. He fell right outta me and I couldn’t …” Miss Ida stopped. And dropped Nurse’s hand. And rocked and stared.
From my years on the forum I’ve seen amazing authors come and go, I hope my services can help break blocks in writing and inspire others to continue in their writing. I freelance, but I don’t consider myself a professional at any rate. I currently don’t intend to charge for my services. I have a busy schedule, but I’ll try to manage what I can, unless it’s a large request. Good luck writers!
