A derelict cabin, surrounded by trees similar to those that build its walls. One such pine gave up the ghost and collapsed through what was left of the roof and crushed the remains of a split-rail bunk. You don’t dare go in for fear of the roof collapsing, but the walls will likely stand long after you’re dead. After all, four square(ish) corners have upheld a hundred winter snows already.
I’ve always had vivid images in my mind of the worlds I created in Stones of Caron and in a half a dozen or more other ideas which pushed the pencil across spiral notebooks. Even as a young teen I could taste the spring desert in the wind, and feel the aches of a week’s hiking. With the publication of first What Time Handed Them, and then Following Danger’s Path I discovered this part of me stymied. I guess it must have been writer’s block. (La-dee-dah I guess that took way too long to put together.)
Getting a job didn’t help too much. I was then spending my days at work instead of amid my webs of intrigue. But I knew this wasn’t an excuse. So I began reading books off my shelf and then my dad, ever engrossed in a historical work, began throwing a few of his favorites my way. And lo, the power of history made its presence known again.
I maintain that nothing is stranger than the truth. And you can discern the bells of history when there is a ring of truth in the text. Intrigue, murder, war, legends… all of them form culture around society and paint in more detail than there are eyes to see.
The combined work of two such books served to loosen the mortar built around my creativity and lo it crashed like a truckload of firewood… (you can trust me on that one.) The tales surrounding ancient Greece and Persia and all of the conflicts between the East and West got my writer juices pumping like crazy.
Ideas for the culture around my characters in the next series are finally gelling. Unfortunately this means I want to work on it instead of The Stones of Caron. I suppose this is just a test of my discipline but we’ll see how that goes.