I did some final editing today on the manuscript for my first writing project, and am looking towards publishing it by the beginning of the new year. I’ve undertaken much to get to this point, the point at which I will be a, “professional”, writer: basically meaning I’ll get revenue from my work.
Once this first project is published, –which is an autobiographical collection of stories and answers to the question: what is it like to live on a bus?– I will be able to take the next step in my writing career. Currently, I write mostly for myself, though I do some freelance work every so often.
My position with my family ministry enables me to live and be provided for, while still having the leisure to write as often and as long as I wish. My situation is unique. I’ve been blessed to be given such ideal circumstances… And yet, traveling on a bus, constantly surrounded by people and noise is possibly the worst circumstance for a writer to try and work in.
As I said, my situation is unique. My writing has no lack of inspiration as every day bring something new to see and to think on. But, every once in a while, I feel the pulsing need to write something. So, if you don’t mind, here’s a little palm-in-hand for your day.
Carlos, who thought his name was the worst of all Martorian names, felt absent-minded as he scuffled his way down the streets of the city. There were so many unanswered questions drifting through his mind. Questions like: why do the Ordinances exist? Why were Varvarand and his rebels trying to assassinate the Ultim? And why did he feel so unsure of himself?
“Get a grip, man!” He muttered to himself, clenching his fist as his feet scraped the dusty cobbles of Martori’s small marketplace. The camels lowed their frustration as merchants unpacked their goods to barter to the trade houses and federations which had sent representatives to haggle with them. The canvas flaps of the wooden stalls were brushed back by a stiff, desert breeze like the kind that often whispered its way through the dust swarmed streets of Martori.
Carlos had lived here for as long as he could remember, perhaps his whole life. Old man Gossly waved to him from one of the adobe houses at the end of the street. Carlos smiled, Gossly had been a friend of his family since he was a boy, the old man was the father he had never had. Carlos went over to the man’s front door and greeted his friend warmly. But, Gossly just shook his head and turned Carlos to face the wall of the city.
“You see that wall, my boy?” The old man’s gravely voice wavered as with shaky gestures he motioned to the extensive stone wall. “That wall is protection, that wall is security. It keeps the treasures of the city inside, and prevents things from coming in to steal that treasure.”
“What is beyond the wall? Why can’t we leave? What is the Ultim trying to keep us from?” Carlos asked. He had grown bored of the same streets, the same people, and the same amusements day in and day out. He longed to see the world and what it had to offer.
Gossly smiled at the boy, wisdom in his face. “You only want it because you cannot have it. If you had it, you would realize that you never really wanted it to begin with.” He chuckled.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Carlos perked a brow quizzically. Gossly ignored the question and stared off into the setting sky.
“Beyond those walls is a sun that sets. Every seasons comes to an end out there, both the good and the bad alike. But in here, in the city, the sun never sets, we always have light and life. In these wall, we are safe.” Gossly nodded, agreeing with himself. His weathered face and greying beard made him look older than he really was.
“But, what about the people who live beyond the wall? Do they know about the city? Can they enter and live here like us?” Carlos said, now becoming less concerned about his own boredom and more about those outside of the city.
“The scouts are out looking for people, telling them of the city and directing them to the gates, but I fear it will be too late…” The old man looked sadly at the setting sun, pulled down by the arms of night and the dust clouds forming on the horizon. “The storm is coming.”
Carlos looked too, his eyes widened in realization that when the storm came, all outside the wall would perish. “God help us all…”
Well, that was me just being me. Hope you don’t mind me taking a break from the stereotypical for a while. Remember, whatever you do, do it for the right reason, and find a way to make it fun.
As always, thanks for reading, you really are the best!
—the anonymous novelist
the anonymous novelist 