The beginning of a novel…

Author’s Note – It’s been a while since I posted. And I’m not in the midst of writing anything in particular. Well, not any short stories. I am writing a novel. The third draft of it, in fact. And I thought ya’ll might appreciate a snippet from it. Just a little glimpse. Enough to make it seem barely within your grasp… but just slipping away. *winks*

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“When telling of a hero’s journey it’s often hard to know where to start. If you tell me, “Why at the beginning,” I might in turn tell you that’s not always the best place. Yes, the beginning is a sturdy platform to work from, but it’s not quite what I’m looking for, it doesn’t carry the right balance. Were I to start at the mid-point you would be utterly lost. And we can’t have that. And if I start at the end, well that would be his death. Maybe. Unless—yes— my hero has more than one life. That would be interesting, At which point the real beginning would be a midpoint, and possibly this story’s ending. Ah, I like the sound of that. Let’s go there.

Yes, this feels right. We’re here. The air’s every movement, whispering, brushing past us. Maybe a wind, but I think that’s a bit too harsh. It’s a gentle breeze, whispering quiet and cool as it comforts us like a step out into sharp air of a mountainside, after climbing through stuffy damp caves. Inhale with us, and look out over that mountainside—a mountain side is where we are. Rocky, gray. Sputtering grass in patches that dance to the wind. It’s a lovely sight, really. Oh, and the sun makes such a difference, shining its calmly warming rays through the clouds rushing past. And how the breeze rustles his long coat. It’s not enough to cause the tight weave to flutter. That would require a wind. This is just rustling, so gentle.

Oh, I guess I should tell you who we are—who he is. That man is Emmit Darker, The Last Enforcer. He’s like a knight standing at the edge of a sharp drop off on the mountain side. Actually, I correct myself. He is a knight. And this is a knight’s tale. Its more traditional beginning is in the past, when his jet hair didn’t quite gleam and his grey eyes didn’t shine. When his weathered face was rough with stubble. And the way his eyes glisten now with tears, they didn’t do that either. Poor man, what he had to go through to get here. There’s so much that I’m holding back right now, so much that will be told in the tale. And though it pains me to relive this, I think it is time. Time, yes. Though, in the present we look back to another time. And thus, I guess I shall begin.”

-TDA, Prologue, 1st Three Paragraphs-

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