Yay! Another milestone passed.
Jul. 12th, 2003 08:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
capri0mniWell, I finished the polished version of my commissioned story today... or nearly so. I'll let it rest a day or two, then go back and tweak it a little, and tighten up the wording. But for all intents and purposes, it's finished. I provide it here, for your pleasure, under a cut.
Once, in a time no clock or calendar could measure, a queen went riding for pleasure through the forests of her royal estates with twelve of her ladies in waiting. The sky above was clear and blue, the trees' leaves shone in the sunlight like the finest stained glass and the songs of birds around them sounded as bright and clear as the chiming of bells.
Then, at midday, a milk-white fog descended upon them - so thick, it muffled the sounds of their horses' hooves. The queen was not worried. She trusted that her palfrey knew the trails of the forest as she knew the way through the halls of her own castle. She rode on for quite a long way, and yet never came to the edge of the fog bank. As she rode over the crest of a hill, she saw a cluster of brilliant golden lights, shining and glimmering like golden stars, here on Earth. She called for her ladies in waiting to gather around her, and see this wonder. There was no answer. It was then that she realized she was lost, and for a moment, she was afraid. "But," she told herself, "the only way out of the wilderness is to go through it," so she urged her horse forward, and since she had nothing else to guide her, rode on for a long way toward the golden lights.
The day wore on, and the milk-white fog turned violet, then blue as sapphire as the sun set. Nighttime was fully upon her before she reached the far side of the fog bank, and drew near her destination at last. It was then that she saw the golden lights were, indeed, wondrous golden fruits hanging from a golden tree. Its branches were so wide and its leaves so dense that stepping under its canopy was like entering the grand ballroom of her own palace, for the ground below it was as bare and dry as any marble floor, and the leaves and fruit shone like ten thousand candles.
The fruit itself was more fragrant than honey, and the queen was so hungry after her long ride that reached up and took picked the ripest one she could reach, and ate it, carefully saving the pit in the pouch that hung from her chatelaine. Then, as she was tired, she dismounted, and curled into a hollow of the trunk, and fell asleep.
When she awoke at dawn, she saw that she had ridden into a magnificent garden, with flowers as bright as gems that shone like stars even in the daylight. The fog was gone. The gate to the garden stood wide open, and the path leading through the forest was clear. The queen mounted rode back along the trail, and was received at her own door at midday.
The king was overjoyed to see her, and plied her with a hundred questions about where she had been, and how she had found her way home.
But the queen said nothing.
As one season turned to another, it became clear that the queen was with child, and the king, who had long wanted an heir, called for the court soothsayer to predict the child's destiny.
The soothsayer came, and after burning incense, chanting spells, and gazing in his scrying mirror, he proclaimed that the child was indeed a male heir, and would grow into a fine and wise king. But more than that (miracle of miracles) he would have a heart of pure gold, and a golden star shining in the center of his brow.
After the queen had given birth, the king was brought in to see his new son. When he saw the golden star on the boy's forehead, he knew at once that the soothsayer's strange prophecy was true, and that the boy also had a heart of pure gold. Greed overtook him, then, and he wanted to kill the child, and take the golden heart for himself, and he reached for the knife in his belt.
But the queen stayed his hand. "This is your son and your heir," she said, "and this kingdom's future. We have waited so long for a child, who knows if we will be blessed with another? If you kill him, your lands and throne shall surely fall into the hands of your enemies upon your death."
And so the king relented. "Very well," he said. "But if ever you give birth to another child, then that one shall be my heir, and this one shall die."
And the queen had no choice but to be content with that bargain.
Seven years passed, and the young prince grew to be the delight of the queen's heart.
But her joy did not continue unabated, for in the height of the summer season it became clear that the queen was again with child. As the infant grew and quickened within her, her grief grew as well. All the while, her son laughed and played as any child would, oblivious to the death sentence hanging over his head.
One day, as her time of delivery drew near, she watched from one of the castle towers as he ran off to play in amongst the trees of the royal forest. She sighed, wishing he could escape the unjust death that awaited him. And she cried out: "Oh! If only I had given birth to a black feathered raven, rather than to a golden star child!"
In that instant, the sky grew black, and a great wind blew across the land, and when it died away, her son was nowhere to be seen, and the queen feared that he had been taken from her as punishment for making an evil wish.
That night, she went into labor, and as the sun rose the next morning, she gave birth to a fair little daughter, whose fine hair shimmered like the sun's rays, and whose eyes were as blue as the clearest sky. And though the queen loved her daughter very much, the heavy grief she felt over the loss of her son never left her heart.
She retired to the highest room of the highest tower, and never left it. She ordered a great loom to be built for her, larger than any loom in the kingdom, and called for the finest threads of every color to be brought, and lived out her grief weaving a tapestry in memory of her son. Three years passed, and still, the image unwinding from her mind was only a quarter of the way up the loom.
As soon as she was old enough to climb the stairs, the young princess joined her, and spent hours there at her mother's knee, watching her work. In time, she learned to card wool and to spin. And she spun the threads that her mother wove.
"Mother," she asked one day, "what is that image you are weaving?"
"It is a garden, with flowers like stars, and a golden fruit tree in the center," her mother replied.
"Oh, if only such a garden were real!"
"It is real. I have seen it."
The princess begged her mother to tell her more, but the queen said nothing.
Seasons and years passed, and little by little, the princess teased the details of the story out of her mother's lips, just as she teased the tangles and burrs out of the wool she carded. And then one day, when the princess was a strong young woman, and the queen's hair was turning gray, the queen revealed the last secret of all - how the prince was lost, when she had wished for a raven instead of a child with a golden star.
"I shall go and find him," the princess declared, "and bring him home again! He must surely be grown by now, and strong enough to defend himself against our father."
"It is impossible," the queen said, shaking her head. "If he still lives at all, he is lost to the world of men, and it is far too dangerous. I would not lose you, too, for all the world."
But day after day, the princess gave her no peace, until finally, the queen relented. She gave her daughter a ball of golden thread, and told her to roll it before her and follow it, so that she would never be lost. She gave her the gold wedding ring off her finger, along with all her blessings, to keep her safe. And lastly, she gave her the seed she had saved from that golden fruit, so that she may have the strength and endurance of that great tree.
And so the princess set out, rolling the ball of thread before her as her mother told her -- through cities and towns, and wild, brambly forests, and asked all she met if they had seen a boy or a man with a golden star on his forehead. But the only thing anyone can tell her is "No." And they often added, it seemed for spite, that no such person could ever exist.
Then, at last, the ball of thread could lead her no farther, for she reached the top of a cliff at the edge of the world, so high and close to the sun that all living things were burnt away, and only the sun's own eagles, their feathers as red and glowing as the iron in a blacksmith's forge, could perch there, with the sea stretching out blue-black and cold far below her.
No sooner had she reached the end of the thread, and took all this in, than the largest of the eagles flew at her from high above. "Begone," the eagle called out, "before I eat thee! "This is no land for a mortal to tread upon."
"If I must die, so be it," the princess said. "But I beg of you -- grant me the mercy of answering my question before you feast."
The eagle agreed to answer one question.
"Have you seen a boy or a man with a gold star on his brow?" the princess asked.
The eagle gave a cry of surprise, and flew down, perching on the ground beside her. "How do you know of such a one?" he asked, staring with his red-gold eye.
"He is my brother, and I have come from searching the wide world for him. He was born after my mother ate from a golden fruit tree," and she showed the eagle the seed of that fruit as proof the story she was telling was true.
The eagle's demeanor changed. "You are here with the sun's blessing, then," he said, "for that seed is from the sun's own tree within the sun's own garden, and you are indeed the one destined him to free him from enchantment, and bring him back to the human world."
The eagle told her of how the prince had been turned to a raven by the queen's wish, and how he was bound to the dark otherworld across the great sea. "I can carry you to that world," he said, "and you can free him. But the way will be hard and painful, and the sacrifice you need to make will be great. Are you still willing?" he asked.
"I have traveled through cities and towns and brambly forests," she answered. "I will not turn back now."
And so she climbed on the eagle's back, and he carried her across the wide, blue-black sea. As they neared the far shore, they saw that the horizon was shrouded with dark storm clouds, pierced with lightning, and churned by strong winds. Even the mighty eagle of the sun had trouble flying through it, and was nearly swatted from the sky as though he were a mere beetle. The princess clung with all her strength to his neck, and though she managed to hang on, the ball of thread she carried at her belt came loose, and fell into the sea far below them.
When they landed, safe but exhausted, on the far shore, she lamented its loss. For how was she to find her way now, she wondered, without it?
The eagle told her not to fear, and with his own talons plucked out one eye, and handed it to her. "Roll this before you in its stead," he told her, "and do not let the burns on your fingers deter you. Such is the pain you must endure, if you are to bring your brother home."
The princess thanked him, and the eagle flew back across the sea, to the cliffs of the sun.
And though the flaming eye did burn her fingers, she rolled it before her without flinching, until her skin blistered and hardened and she no longer felt the pain. She followed the eye through a strange land of black obsidian and stone - forests more dense and brambly than any she had seen on Earth, and across deserts as flat and featureless as a mirror, until, at last, she reached a high tower of black crystal. But the door to that tower was locked, and she had no key.
But, running her hand over the door and the lock, she saw that the little finger of her right hand fit perfectly into the keyhole. So, remembering how the eagle had plucked out his own eye for her brother's sake, she broke off her finger, and used it as a key.
She heard the lock click, and the door swung open at her touch.
With racing heart, she climbed the long staircase of the tower, reaching the topmost room a few moments before sunset. There, she found a table set for one, and a narrow cot in the corner. The table was laid out with a meal of meat and bread and wine. She took a bite of the meat, and a bite of the bread, and a sip of the wine. She took her mother's ring from her finger, and dropped it into the cup. Then she hid herself under the bed as best she could, and waited.
She did not have to wait long, for just as the sun was setting a giant raven flew into the room. He shed his feathers as though they were a cloak, and took on his natural human form - a grown man, now - the gold star on his forehead filling the room with light.
When he saw that someone had eaten of his food and drunk of his wine, he grew angry.
"Who has eaten of my food?" he asked. "Who has drunk of my wine? Show yourself, if you are here!"
But the princess held her peace, and did not move.
Satisfied that he was alone, the prince sat down to eat. As he drained the cup of wine, he found his mother's ring. "I know this ring!" he said. "It had once belonged to my dear mother. If only someone were here who could bring me news of her, and tell me how she fares."
It was then that the princess came out from her hiding place, and embraced him, and told him she was his sister, come to bring him home at last.
"Since you have come bearing our mother's blessing," he told her, "the enchantment upon me is truly broken. When dawn comes, I shall again be able to take my raven form, and I shall fly us both across the sea. Then, we can return home together."
And so, next morning, she climbed on his back as she had climbed upon the eagle's and he carried her across the sea. The storms that had shrouded the dark island's shore were gone, and the sky was clear. But the raven was not as strong as the eagle, and as they drew near the midpoint of the sea, he began to tire.
"Throw the golden seed into the sea," he told his sister, "or we shall both be lost."
The princess did so, and in that instant, a giant golden tree grew up from the ocean floor, and the raven flew down for a rest. The branches were so wide and strong that there was room for both, and there they spent the night. When dawn came, they flew on to the other shore, and returned to the world of men.
The prince shed his cloak of feathers for the last time, and it turned to dust and blew away in the wind.
Wherever the prince stepped the path before them opened wide, and the light from his golden star showed the way, and at midday of the seventh day, they strode through the gate of their own castle.
The king, seeing the golden star from afar, knew that the man with the golden heart had returned, and notched an arrow into his bow to slay him.
But the princess, seeing this, hurled the eagle's flaming eye. It flew straight and swiftly at the king, and burned the heart within his own chest, before he had a chance to loose the fatal arrow.
The golden star prince was now the king, and, true to the soothsayer's prophecy, ruled over the land with wisdom.
The woman who commissioned me to write this story asked me to set my own price -- that I should think of it in terms of what a healer would charge, keeping in mind that it might become at least a semi-regular gig: creating art for individuals, either as a healing act or as gifts for others.
At first, I thought of charging by the hour -- $10 for the first hour, $1 for every hour after that. But I could not think about the clock and be creative at the same time. So I decided on a flat fee for a minimum, and a little bit extra for writing over the minimum.
As I see it, tarot reading (and other divination counselling) is the closet thing "out there" to storytelling in the new-agey healer circles. And I've heard that a common price range for a tarot reading is between $20 and $25. So I've decided to charge $20 for the first 4,000 words of a narrative (roughly 16 pages, typed, double-spaced) and 25c for each 250 words (roughly one page) after that. ... And $10 for a non-narrative poem.
What do you think?
Once, in a time no clock or calendar could measure, a queen went riding for pleasure through the forests of her royal estates with twelve of her ladies in waiting. The sky above was clear and blue, the trees' leaves shone in the sunlight like the finest stained glass and the songs of birds around them sounded as bright and clear as the chiming of bells.
Then, at midday, a milk-white fog descended upon them - so thick, it muffled the sounds of their horses' hooves. The queen was not worried. She trusted that her palfrey knew the trails of the forest as she knew the way through the halls of her own castle. She rode on for quite a long way, and yet never came to the edge of the fog bank. As she rode over the crest of a hill, she saw a cluster of brilliant golden lights, shining and glimmering like golden stars, here on Earth. She called for her ladies in waiting to gather around her, and see this wonder. There was no answer. It was then that she realized she was lost, and for a moment, she was afraid. "But," she told herself, "the only way out of the wilderness is to go through it," so she urged her horse forward, and since she had nothing else to guide her, rode on for a long way toward the golden lights.
The day wore on, and the milk-white fog turned violet, then blue as sapphire as the sun set. Nighttime was fully upon her before she reached the far side of the fog bank, and drew near her destination at last. It was then that she saw the golden lights were, indeed, wondrous golden fruits hanging from a golden tree. Its branches were so wide and its leaves so dense that stepping under its canopy was like entering the grand ballroom of her own palace, for the ground below it was as bare and dry as any marble floor, and the leaves and fruit shone like ten thousand candles.
The fruit itself was more fragrant than honey, and the queen was so hungry after her long ride that reached up and took picked the ripest one she could reach, and ate it, carefully saving the pit in the pouch that hung from her chatelaine. Then, as she was tired, she dismounted, and curled into a hollow of the trunk, and fell asleep.
When she awoke at dawn, she saw that she had ridden into a magnificent garden, with flowers as bright as gems that shone like stars even in the daylight. The fog was gone. The gate to the garden stood wide open, and the path leading through the forest was clear. The queen mounted rode back along the trail, and was received at her own door at midday.
The king was overjoyed to see her, and plied her with a hundred questions about where she had been, and how she had found her way home.
But the queen said nothing.
As one season turned to another, it became clear that the queen was with child, and the king, who had long wanted an heir, called for the court soothsayer to predict the child's destiny.
The soothsayer came, and after burning incense, chanting spells, and gazing in his scrying mirror, he proclaimed that the child was indeed a male heir, and would grow into a fine and wise king. But more than that (miracle of miracles) he would have a heart of pure gold, and a golden star shining in the center of his brow.
After the queen had given birth, the king was brought in to see his new son. When he saw the golden star on the boy's forehead, he knew at once that the soothsayer's strange prophecy was true, and that the boy also had a heart of pure gold. Greed overtook him, then, and he wanted to kill the child, and take the golden heart for himself, and he reached for the knife in his belt.
But the queen stayed his hand. "This is your son and your heir," she said, "and this kingdom's future. We have waited so long for a child, who knows if we will be blessed with another? If you kill him, your lands and throne shall surely fall into the hands of your enemies upon your death."
And so the king relented. "Very well," he said. "But if ever you give birth to another child, then that one shall be my heir, and this one shall die."
And the queen had no choice but to be content with that bargain.
Seven years passed, and the young prince grew to be the delight of the queen's heart.
But her joy did not continue unabated, for in the height of the summer season it became clear that the queen was again with child. As the infant grew and quickened within her, her grief grew as well. All the while, her son laughed and played as any child would, oblivious to the death sentence hanging over his head.
One day, as her time of delivery drew near, she watched from one of the castle towers as he ran off to play in amongst the trees of the royal forest. She sighed, wishing he could escape the unjust death that awaited him. And she cried out: "Oh! If only I had given birth to a black feathered raven, rather than to a golden star child!"
In that instant, the sky grew black, and a great wind blew across the land, and when it died away, her son was nowhere to be seen, and the queen feared that he had been taken from her as punishment for making an evil wish.
That night, she went into labor, and as the sun rose the next morning, she gave birth to a fair little daughter, whose fine hair shimmered like the sun's rays, and whose eyes were as blue as the clearest sky. And though the queen loved her daughter very much, the heavy grief she felt over the loss of her son never left her heart.
She retired to the highest room of the highest tower, and never left it. She ordered a great loom to be built for her, larger than any loom in the kingdom, and called for the finest threads of every color to be brought, and lived out her grief weaving a tapestry in memory of her son. Three years passed, and still, the image unwinding from her mind was only a quarter of the way up the loom.
As soon as she was old enough to climb the stairs, the young princess joined her, and spent hours there at her mother's knee, watching her work. In time, she learned to card wool and to spin. And she spun the threads that her mother wove.
"Mother," she asked one day, "what is that image you are weaving?"
"It is a garden, with flowers like stars, and a golden fruit tree in the center," her mother replied.
"Oh, if only such a garden were real!"
"It is real. I have seen it."
The princess begged her mother to tell her more, but the queen said nothing.
Seasons and years passed, and little by little, the princess teased the details of the story out of her mother's lips, just as she teased the tangles and burrs out of the wool she carded. And then one day, when the princess was a strong young woman, and the queen's hair was turning gray, the queen revealed the last secret of all - how the prince was lost, when she had wished for a raven instead of a child with a golden star.
"I shall go and find him," the princess declared, "and bring him home again! He must surely be grown by now, and strong enough to defend himself against our father."
"It is impossible," the queen said, shaking her head. "If he still lives at all, he is lost to the world of men, and it is far too dangerous. I would not lose you, too, for all the world."
But day after day, the princess gave her no peace, until finally, the queen relented. She gave her daughter a ball of golden thread, and told her to roll it before her and follow it, so that she would never be lost. She gave her the gold wedding ring off her finger, along with all her blessings, to keep her safe. And lastly, she gave her the seed she had saved from that golden fruit, so that she may have the strength and endurance of that great tree.
And so the princess set out, rolling the ball of thread before her as her mother told her -- through cities and towns, and wild, brambly forests, and asked all she met if they had seen a boy or a man with a golden star on his forehead. But the only thing anyone can tell her is "No." And they often added, it seemed for spite, that no such person could ever exist.
Then, at last, the ball of thread could lead her no farther, for she reached the top of a cliff at the edge of the world, so high and close to the sun that all living things were burnt away, and only the sun's own eagles, their feathers as red and glowing as the iron in a blacksmith's forge, could perch there, with the sea stretching out blue-black and cold far below her.
No sooner had she reached the end of the thread, and took all this in, than the largest of the eagles flew at her from high above. "Begone," the eagle called out, "before I eat thee! "This is no land for a mortal to tread upon."
"If I must die, so be it," the princess said. "But I beg of you -- grant me the mercy of answering my question before you feast."
The eagle agreed to answer one question.
"Have you seen a boy or a man with a gold star on his brow?" the princess asked.
The eagle gave a cry of surprise, and flew down, perching on the ground beside her. "How do you know of such a one?" he asked, staring with his red-gold eye.
"He is my brother, and I have come from searching the wide world for him. He was born after my mother ate from a golden fruit tree," and she showed the eagle the seed of that fruit as proof the story she was telling was true.
The eagle's demeanor changed. "You are here with the sun's blessing, then," he said, "for that seed is from the sun's own tree within the sun's own garden, and you are indeed the one destined him to free him from enchantment, and bring him back to the human world."
The eagle told her of how the prince had been turned to a raven by the queen's wish, and how he was bound to the dark otherworld across the great sea. "I can carry you to that world," he said, "and you can free him. But the way will be hard and painful, and the sacrifice you need to make will be great. Are you still willing?" he asked.
"I have traveled through cities and towns and brambly forests," she answered. "I will not turn back now."
And so she climbed on the eagle's back, and he carried her across the wide, blue-black sea. As they neared the far shore, they saw that the horizon was shrouded with dark storm clouds, pierced with lightning, and churned by strong winds. Even the mighty eagle of the sun had trouble flying through it, and was nearly swatted from the sky as though he were a mere beetle. The princess clung with all her strength to his neck, and though she managed to hang on, the ball of thread she carried at her belt came loose, and fell into the sea far below them.
When they landed, safe but exhausted, on the far shore, she lamented its loss. For how was she to find her way now, she wondered, without it?
The eagle told her not to fear, and with his own talons plucked out one eye, and handed it to her. "Roll this before you in its stead," he told her, "and do not let the burns on your fingers deter you. Such is the pain you must endure, if you are to bring your brother home."
The princess thanked him, and the eagle flew back across the sea, to the cliffs of the sun.
And though the flaming eye did burn her fingers, she rolled it before her without flinching, until her skin blistered and hardened and she no longer felt the pain. She followed the eye through a strange land of black obsidian and stone - forests more dense and brambly than any she had seen on Earth, and across deserts as flat and featureless as a mirror, until, at last, she reached a high tower of black crystal. But the door to that tower was locked, and she had no key.
But, running her hand over the door and the lock, she saw that the little finger of her right hand fit perfectly into the keyhole. So, remembering how the eagle had plucked out his own eye for her brother's sake, she broke off her finger, and used it as a key.
She heard the lock click, and the door swung open at her touch.
With racing heart, she climbed the long staircase of the tower, reaching the topmost room a few moments before sunset. There, she found a table set for one, and a narrow cot in the corner. The table was laid out with a meal of meat and bread and wine. She took a bite of the meat, and a bite of the bread, and a sip of the wine. She took her mother's ring from her finger, and dropped it into the cup. Then she hid herself under the bed as best she could, and waited.
She did not have to wait long, for just as the sun was setting a giant raven flew into the room. He shed his feathers as though they were a cloak, and took on his natural human form - a grown man, now - the gold star on his forehead filling the room with light.
When he saw that someone had eaten of his food and drunk of his wine, he grew angry.
"Who has eaten of my food?" he asked. "Who has drunk of my wine? Show yourself, if you are here!"
But the princess held her peace, and did not move.
Satisfied that he was alone, the prince sat down to eat. As he drained the cup of wine, he found his mother's ring. "I know this ring!" he said. "It had once belonged to my dear mother. If only someone were here who could bring me news of her, and tell me how she fares."
It was then that the princess came out from her hiding place, and embraced him, and told him she was his sister, come to bring him home at last.
"Since you have come bearing our mother's blessing," he told her, "the enchantment upon me is truly broken. When dawn comes, I shall again be able to take my raven form, and I shall fly us both across the sea. Then, we can return home together."
And so, next morning, she climbed on his back as she had climbed upon the eagle's and he carried her across the sea. The storms that had shrouded the dark island's shore were gone, and the sky was clear. But the raven was not as strong as the eagle, and as they drew near the midpoint of the sea, he began to tire.
"Throw the golden seed into the sea," he told his sister, "or we shall both be lost."
The princess did so, and in that instant, a giant golden tree grew up from the ocean floor, and the raven flew down for a rest. The branches were so wide and strong that there was room for both, and there they spent the night. When dawn came, they flew on to the other shore, and returned to the world of men.
The prince shed his cloak of feathers for the last time, and it turned to dust and blew away in the wind.
Wherever the prince stepped the path before them opened wide, and the light from his golden star showed the way, and at midday of the seventh day, they strode through the gate of their own castle.
The king, seeing the golden star from afar, knew that the man with the golden heart had returned, and notched an arrow into his bow to slay him.
But the princess, seeing this, hurled the eagle's flaming eye. It flew straight and swiftly at the king, and burned the heart within his own chest, before he had a chance to loose the fatal arrow.
The golden star prince was now the king, and, true to the soothsayer's prophecy, ruled over the land with wisdom.
The woman who commissioned me to write this story asked me to set my own price -- that I should think of it in terms of what a healer would charge, keeping in mind that it might become at least a semi-regular gig: creating art for individuals, either as a healing act or as gifts for others.
At first, I thought of charging by the hour -- $10 for the first hour, $1 for every hour after that. But I could not think about the clock and be creative at the same time. So I decided on a flat fee for a minimum, and a little bit extra for writing over the minimum.
As I see it, tarot reading (and other divination counselling) is the closet thing "out there" to storytelling in the new-agey healer circles. And I've heard that a common price range for a tarot reading is between $20 and $25. So I've decided to charge $20 for the first 4,000 words of a narrative (roughly 16 pages, typed, double-spaced) and 25c for each 250 words (roughly one page) after that. ... And $10 for a non-narrative poem.
What do you think?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-07-12 07:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-12 08:17 pm (UTC)When I first started meditating on the central idea, I kept coming back to the image of two labyrinths, mirroring each other: one on earth (for the girl), and one in the sky (for the eagle). At first, I tried writing the story around a literal labyrinth (such as the kind Theseus had to traverse to reach the Minataur), but the story just wouldn't pull around it, so I switched to a metaphorical labyrinth (brambles and storms), and it crystalized. I love it when things crystalize like that! :-)
no subject
Date: 2003-07-12 09:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-12 09:37 pm (UTC)