In my writing group one of the exercises was to answer the question "What do I really want to write about?"
About strange places where bushes and trees grow knowing they are meant there, and nameless travelers wander in to hear the story of the vale.
Stories of characters climbing rock cliffs with yellow sand dunes underneath climbing until their fingernails are chipped, and dirt dries their blood, but they never waiver.
Gentle boat rides down a calm river, with thistle tucked between your teeth.
Two people dancing all alone in a forgotten ballroom, but memories conjure up shadows to surround them.
Castles constructed with a purpose, over beautiful falls, then forgotten, until new owners know nothing of its past.
One person running in the dark.
Gentle moonlight flitting over green leaves as wind blows through the trees.
That moment when a character is motivated by more than what they want, because they have found a purpose.
Moments when those wonderful questions are asked;
Do you have anything worth dying for? Do you have anything worth living for?
A little room, warm fire, cool shadows, pleasant company, and laughter that makes you happy, nevermind tomorrow and what it might bring.
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