Inspired

Dude. I've started a story (again) and I am in love with it. Something to feel proud of, once again; and I do feel very proud of it, regardless of how unoriginal and small it is. It is tasty.

Right now, I am in the middle of my favorite part of the writing process: planning and rough-drafting. It's exhilarating. Finding perfect-fit names, creating characters, researching... it is great fun. I know that the days ahead will prove to be full of stumbling blocks and un-inspiration, but I am just enjoying it right now.

The rundown: a young professor comes to teach at an English university stuck between the moors and the sea. A giant who spouts poetry left and right is the jack-of-all-trades maintenance manager. They meet, of course, and etc. happens.

It is simple but it is fun to write, and it shall never see the light of day.
(The best kind.)

I've enclosed two poems I've used so far (they should show you what kind of fluffy story its turning out to be, but I don't care. This is where I self-indulge).

You are a sky of autumn, pale and rose;
But all the sea of sadness in my blood
Surges, and ebbing, leaves my lips morose,
Salt with the memory of the bitter flood.

In vain your hand glides my faint bosom o'er,
That which you seek, beloved, is desecrate
By woman's tooth and talon; ah, no more
Seek in me for a heart which those dogs ate.

It is a ruin where the jackals rest,
And rend and tear and glut themselves and slay--
A perfume swims about your naked breast!

Beauty, hard scourge of spirits, have your way!
With flame-like eyes that at bright feasts have flared
Burn up these tatters that the beasts have spared!

"The Eyes of Beauty"
- Charles Baudelaire
(A wild poem, I know, but so rhythmical!)

Have seen dawn and sunset on moors and windy hills
Coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Spain:
I have seen the lady April brining in the daffodils,
Bringing the spring grasses and the soft warm April rain.

I have heard the song of the blossoms and the old chant of the sea,
And seen strange lands from under the arched white sails of ships;
But the lovliest thing of beauty God ever has showed to me
Are her voice, and her hair, her eyes, and the dear red curve of her lips.

"Beauty"
- John Masefield