Wasn't sure where to put this. I considered Fantasy, but it's not your average fantasy tale.
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Fame
I rocked back on my heels impatiently, whilst waiting for my usual caramel latte. The coffee shop was small, but warm, due to the brown and red tones. The smell of roasted coffee beans wafted through the room, waking up my senses even before the coffee slid down my throat. I downed caffeine religiously these days. An extra boost in the morning was a crucial part of the writing process. It had helped me through the brutal struggle to finish my first novel in less than a year.
“Mr. Cooper.” Someone whispered, tapping me on the shoulder.
I was hoping that a pair of dark sunglasses and a ball cap would hide my regrettably recognisable face, but, apparently, they had not. Reluctantly, I turned around. Standing in front of me was an acne covered teenage boy, smiling at me through clumps of red hair.
“I’ve read your book seven times, already. To tell you the truth, I’ve always believed Tolkien was the true fantasy genius, but your work has surpassed him, in my mind. It’s strange…How’d you do it?”
“You’re in line for it: caffeine. That’s how.” I chuckled.
“No, not ‘how did you finish it in only three months.’ How did you write such a masterpiece? Where did your inspiration come from? How is such a work even possible?” The boy was dumfounded.
“I don’t know, to be honest with you. It just came in a series of dreams I had. All I had to do was piece it together.”
The boys face sank. He seemed to have wanted more. Maybe I should have told him it was a revelation from God or that I uncovered ancient scrolls with Greek text that I had to decipher. He nodded his head and bid me, “good day.”
I, merely, nodded back and turned around. Funny how things work out. I discovered my natural ability to make words flow together a while back, but I had never seen myself writing fantasy tales for young geeks. I had never as much as picked up a fantasy novel and now I was writing them.
My first novel, The Secret of Harkus, had hit number one on the New York Times Bestseller List in it’s second week on the shelves. Now, I was trying to crank out the sequel before next July, but, at the moment, I had no inspiration. My brain had been wrung dry of all fantasy ideas I had on my breakout novel and what the boy behind me did not know was that in my bag lay a copy of his former love.
Latte in hand, I traced my way back to my car. The sparkling blue Corvette stood out among the string of old cars lining the sidewalk. After checking the parking meter, I entered the car and sped off. It was a half hour drive every morning to the nearest town and just for a foaming drink. Nevertheless, I felt the drive was well worth the stimulation it gave me, not to mention the privacy of living so far off the main road.
As I reached the long dirt drive, my two and a half story white Victorian home came into view. The house had previously been a pastel yellow, but I felt the simplicity of white emphasized the intricate details for which I had bought the house in the first place. After painting; however, I realized that I missed the bit of colour the yellow had added. Now brightly arranged lilies graced the wrap around porch.
I placed my keys on the table as I entered the foyer. Moving into the spacious living room, I removed my plain jacket and threw it onto the cream leather sofa. Essence of pine cones and spring water filled my nostrils, floating up from the Glade Plug-in. The large windows on the back wall opened my house to the rolling green hillside inlaid with a glossy pond and decorated with large, billowy trees.
I made my way up the spiralling wood stairs to my quaint bedroom, which faced the front yard. I had chosen sky blue paint in this room to give me the allusion of being outdoors. I sat down at the desk facing the window and opened my laptop. I was determined to get something down: plot, characters, even if only a snippet of dialogue, but nothing came. The vast depths of my brain were found wanting. Still, I sat, hoping the pressure of my need or the stillness of my room would spark something.
Every so often, I glanced over at the clock, watching as the time slowly inched by. I couldn’t take anymore. I was close to admitting defeat, but I still had plan B before I sank so low as plan C, which was nestled deep in my bag.
Closing my laptop with great ferocity, I moved towards my bookcase, which was free of fantasy novels, except for one. I bent down low, my eyes progressing across the last shelf. Passing over countless classics, my eyes landed, fixed, on my own monstrosity. I pulled The Secret of Harkus from its home and flipped it open, awakening it from its sleep.
The last time I had read through it was just before I sent it off for editing. The storyline was embedded in my mind, but the details were not. I had hoped that revisiting the characters I had left alone for three months would, somehow, awaken in me the next step in their journey.
I sighed and began to read:
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Amidst vats of snow and ice, the lone country of Harkus sat comfortable and secure under protective charms and insulating spells. Just like any other medieval society, its citizens went about their day slaving over hot stoves and cattle manure, while its king sat comfortably on a throne of gold. The caste system was the same: slaves, the impoverished, nobility, and then royalty. The outer walls of the castle kept the beggars from getting in to society and the inner walls kept the common public from reaching the castle, where nobility drank with royalty.
Everything seemed to be the same, but when examined further, one could see the difference. Other country’s during this time where going through a period known as the Dark Ages, Russia being its prime example. Harkus; however, had escaped this demon. Being so far north and so cold, no one even knew it existed. Its isolation had protected it from things like war and disease, though Harkus still had its problems. The small country grew in knowledge and technology, as the rest of the world wasted its time and men on war.
Unscathed, Harkus waited. Soon, it seemed, their knowledge and technology would pay off, for Harkus had a plan. Once they had gathered all they needed, they would deal a great blow to the European countries and take ultimate power over them. King Eden had been planning this for a very long time, carrying out his father’s wishes, which were once his grandfather’s, and so on. But, not all agreed with this operation and, simply, wanted to live out their quiet existence in peace.
One of these men was a young boy called Dree. Dree had already been living a quiet life, as the son of the king’s blacksmith. He had become fond of wandering around the castle, looking for people to help. Sometimes, he would assist in decorating cakes in the bakery or sweeping the halls. Most days, he was lonely, for his father was the only servant with children. He would watch, longingly, from his window as cheerful children played in the streets below, kicking up dust while they chased chickens round and round. Often he wished his father had never been sent to work for the king, but these thoughts became fewer as he grew into a young man and they vanished entirely once he met Mina.
The first time he saw Mina, he thought she was an angel, sleek black hair blowing around her waist and glacial blue eyes that froze his heart.
“Shall I…fetch the physician?” Mina giggled, teeth shining bright.
“What? Oh…no!” He jumped, her voice melting his, previously frozen, heart.
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Once again I felt connected to the story, but only with this story. The next one still alluded me. Moaning, I closed the book and placed it on my desk, peeked over at the clock, which flashed five-ten, and made my way over to the bathroom.
The band’s show was at seven. With the help of my new fame, we had landed a prime spot in the wildly popular Soul of Indie held annually at one of London’s hippest underground clubs, Losano‘s. This was it: our chance to, finally, get noticed. It was my chance to get noticed for what I wanted, not some fairy tale written down on paper, but real words with real meanings. I could finally be me.
I turned on the shower and stripped bare. As I stepped into the shower, the water beat down on me like a steady rain. The clean aroma of my ocean breeze shampoo, to me, was euphoric. The one thing that had kept me going through my fantasy novel was my connection with nature. The fantasy genre was the only one that would allow me to unleash my affection towards the colourful world in great detail, without having to trim it down, in the end.
