- Books, Literature, and Writing
Where do you get your Inspiration?
Inspiration . . .
It's amazing where inspiration comes from, isn't it? Where do you get your inspiration to write? Be it a novel, a novella, or an article for your local newspaper, I've found Inspiration comes from many places. In chat groups all over the country, writers are always interested in other writers and what they write about. One of the main topics in these chat rooms is what inspires them. I've heard every answer you can imagine; It comes from within, without, your neighbors, your colleagues, your friends, family, God, the Universe, my dreams, and all points north and south. Whatever it is, inspiration for writers is what makes us who we are. Inspiration in the digital age comes from as many areas as any other: TV, movies, internet, blogs, Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, or even another hub.
In all the years I've been writing, I've found interesting things to write about, and not so interesting things, what any teenager would call boring (essay, book report) to write about too. But through it all I've learned and hopefully grown to be better than what I started out to be. Come see what makes a writer a dreamer, and a dreamer into an actual writer. It's in the perspective of the mind. (Its all in your imagination folks. You know, the gray matter that matters?)
Side note - I have always loved anything fantasy or sci-fi related, so if you don't wish to read about those things, you may not wish to continue with this hub. The examples I'm going to show you are from my imagination and in the spur of the moment. The photos alone inspired me to write. I even have my favorite treat beside me to help with the inspiration; M&M's. Happy Writing!
The Birth of a Dragon
As the wizard held the so-tiny delicate egg, a crack appeared at the apex of the shell. In mere moments, the magic of life happened, not just in front of him, but in his very hands. In wonder and awe, he watched as the tiny dragon came forth into the world. As pieces of shell fell to the floor, sparkling with the remembrance of life it had held for so many years, the magician smiled. Cooing to the animal with wonder and awe he realized yet another being would be held under his protection.
The wizard, Pantril the Mighty, held the small dragon and breathed its first taste of air into its lungs. This, he was told by his teacher, many years and ages ago, would bind the dragon. It would bind the dragon to his every word. From that point on until its life span ended, it would be his.
"Ah, my friend, you are here now," whispered the wizard to his familiar. Smiling his most gracious smile he asked, "And what shall I call you?"
The dragon crooned and flicked its delicate tongue in the air, tasting the wizards words and his breath. In a squawk and grunt of first flame, just moments after being birthed, it could think of only one thing; food.
"Ah, my friend," said Pantril, "You are hungry." He laughed and wiped the ret of the shell from the dragons body, cleaning as much off as possible before turning away to find a treat.
The red dragon watched from the crags of the Northern Mountain Range. Targ, the Sentinel of the clan. What his clan expected wasn't sure, but he knew someone needed to be at post in the next coming days in case the humans came for their vengeance. In every generation of the Mountain Clan of Dragons, there is born among them one who is charged with the safety of all the others. In this they pledge to watch and ward. Because of this selfless act the clan would thrive and prosper. But in this also, there was always those who wanted nothing more than to see the clan die. And humans were the worst among the races of the Earth who wished to see them succumb.
Staring out at the many empty miles in front of him, young Targ sighed in resignation. He didn't know how he could ever come to grips with having to fight with the humans. They hadn't started this war after all, a lone dragon with a grudge had accomplished that. Why did he and all the others of the clan have to pay for his lone indiscretion? Humans had been hounding the Mountain Clan for centuries, at one point in history nearly hunting them into extinction. But in his lifetime, nearly two thousand years, no man had ever come seeking a dragon trophy. Yet, a lone rogue male - some say mad with grief after all these centuries - who had lived through the slaughter of his own pod, had taken it upon himself to start a vendetta of vengeance. No human living today had anything to do with that slaughter, there lives being so short, but it had made no difference. In a fit of rage and grief, he had slaughtered nearly a thousand with fire and claw. The bloodiest carnage the Mountain Clan had known for ages. And in so doing, causing the races of man to form an army the likes of which hadn't been seen on the Earth in millennia.
If I come out of this whole, I'm going to partition the Council for a new role in my clan. I cannot stand here and watch all day and not partake in my pods defense. I am red dragon! I am death!
The Cluster of Man
Nearly four centuries ago, a probe of unknown origin landed on man's planet of origin; Earth. With it came also a message from its senders: Leave the Earth to us, or die. Man, in his infinite wisdom, did not heed the warning. Two years, two months, and two hours after the probe's landing, man learned to its detriment, the folly of their actions. The probe, one which no scientist or engineer could open to examine its contents, of a sudden, did open. And with it came one lone spore. A spore from space. A spore which eventually killed every man, woman, and child left on the Earth. Before the inevitable however, before the extinction of the human race took place, scientists around the globe, working with engineers, carpenters, doctors, specialists in every field, built ships to leave the planet they called home. In these ships were the Cluster of Man. A cluster of the only remnants of a place man had ever known.
Looking into the void of space, so infinite and mighty, these lone men and women sought a place to call home. Their only regret; not being able to find out what happened to Mother Earth, and who or what had finally claimed it.
Rides Death . . .
On a pale horse he rides; And Death shall be his name.
He carries a sickle, a scythe, a sword, a cane.
To thwart him you cannot; you cannot hide.
In night, or day, a message he brings
Delivering this judgement, for all to see.
His visage he hides in cloak and dark pleats
So those seeking refuge cannot be deceived.
He's said to be one with the world and the Maker
But those who have met him cannot relay.
Through all of time and in all places
Death comes to call
With a knock? Or a whimper?
When He broke the second seal, I heard the second living creature saying, “Come.” And another, a red horse, went out; and to him who sat on it, it was granted to take peace from the earth, and that men would slay one another; and a great sword was given to him.
Why is Lucille Ball here amongst the fantastic and the fantasy? Why the hell not? I LOVE LUCY! Anyone with a sense of humor could probably learn a thing or two from watching her television series and comedies.
Have fun with your writing. That, in the end, is what its all about.