Fifth March Blog. 13-3-15.
(Still with an oceanic theme.)
Great waves crashed against the rocks. Salt spray pounded the dark granite that had stood against its onslaught for many millennia, dark and brooding. The whining wind whipped the waves even higher, as if they were trying to climb those tensile bastions.
From offshore, it seemed as though nothing could withstand the seas lashing. But James Raid knew different. The mausoleum that stood atop those granite cliffs, from two months ago, belonged to him.
Gales, (he’d been told) in the past, crashed against its fortress-like walls, salt had eaten into the brickwork so that the side that faced the ocean was pebbled, encrusted, pitted. Many a window had smashed during these onslaughts. Many a chimneypot tumbled down, landing in a thousand pieces on the paved pathwy surrounding the house.
Good as new now. Though if this wind became any stronger, he bet that more glass would break. Not that it mattered. He only ever entered the house once. Once was enough.
The house, if that is what you could call it, had a strange feel to it. Like someone was watching, never quite there, just a feeling. It made James shiver to think of being in that house again.
BUT……..the house was up for sale, and someone wanted to buy it. The estate agent needed him to be there when the prospective buyer came to look at it.
‘Damned idiot,’ he said out loud, though the wind tore the words from his lips as soon as they were uttered. Again, he stared hard at the clifftop where his nemesis stood. Like an evil eye, it seemed to be watching him back as if to say ‘you are mine and will come back to me’. The shiver was stronger this time, and full of forboding.
James Raid was a practical man. He did not believe in powers that were beyond the human norm, things like ghosts, aliens, the supernatural, any of that ilk. He did not scare easily. The sea, its strength, its unbeleivable power to move mointains, well hills at any rate, he had seen it happen, that was the only thing that scared him, until now.
This is the third blog starting with the ocean. These three scenarios are meerly a drop in the ocean ( if you will pardon the pun? If that is a pun?) of those a writer can choose to perhaps start off a story/tale/novel/ or even poem. Not the only way to start but I think it can get the old juices flowing, even if you do not use them immediately, or in fact, ever in this form, but it does get a person writing. Even if it is not much more than a couple of hundred words. The white page is white no longer. Isn ‘t that what we all strive for in those times when nothing comes to the mind. The brain cells have taken day off, a month even. Just write anything. Theme it, as I have done. (I am not beyond words at this point, just giving a ‘for instance’).
These small anecdotal pieces could be the life blood of your next ensemble, your next novella/poem/full blown novel. These can be the seeds that grow into the tree of life for a piece of writing further down the line. Like at the beginning of a sporting season, the tryouts, if you will. No manager would put together a sight unseen team. He/she wants to see what is available, what would work well together to bring that team to victory. So it is a vey good idea, in my humble opinion, to have these snippets ( theatrical term – waiting in the wings, as it were) ready to hand to use/get new ideas from/change about to suit a new work. Handy, or what?
Crashing ‘gainst the coast,
Battering the bastion rocks,
Deep ocean currents
Oh tidal pull, brave moon flow
Hugging the shore,
Surging back and forth,
Eating earth and sand.
Lunging forward, rock impervious,
Immovable, yet it pounds,
Pounds, as if to crunch
Its very bones.
Like a hunter after prey,
Sometimes turgid, but
Always moving, encroaching.
Breaking rocks, tossing them aside
Like so much flotsam,
Waves whipped, wind force,
She is Mistress,
She is invincible.
Copyright Evelyn J. Steward. March, 2015.
Thank you for reading. Have a great weekend.