Realistic+Story

"If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead and rotten either write things worth reading or do things worth the writing" ~Benjamin Franklin

That is a quote I've based my life around choosing the life of an author from the time I could read and write. Having a vivid, and detailed imagination both for the real world and the realm of fantasy made this life decision an apparent and obvious one (the other option being cartoonist, and I'm no artist). Tonight is exactly like all the others: sitting in my one room apartment, alone, nothing but a blank computer screen staring me in the eye. I've got no pen name, nor do I use my real name on my works I'm essentially a writer for hire much the way musicians pay other people to write songs people pay me to write the majority of the story while they add minor details such as character names, location, etc.. I've never been married, had one successful date which led to a mild relationship until finally she realized she wanted a man with what she defined as a "real job".

Now I'm doing a piece for a woman who wants a story set in a fanciful world using as much historical reality as possible, yet incorporating fiction elements to the story. While it's not an easy task the money speaks for itself, on this job I'll be earning 700$ and it'll probably take about a week to accomplish along with a few other projects I'm working on along with this one.

My fingers start to click on the keyboard and words begin to appear in front of me:

//Once in the land of Guillotar a young man born of the first female politician, and her husband: a knight, and bred for greatness decided to visit the War Academy where the greatest generals in the land trained in the theory of warfare. On his tedious walk he passed through the training courts of the Hall of Young Knighthood where youths of 8 years and below trained for knighthood after the age of 8 they were transferred to the Hall of Wraith Warriors where the 9 through 18 year old men trained for the upcoming war against the Wraith rulers of the land of Guillotar; so named for our love of the guillotine. This young man's parents chose the War Academy for him after a long, and at times horrific argument over a royal education in politics or the Hall of Young Knighthood. Eventually the middle ground was found here as it was close to the battlefield but required the intelligence, and levelheadedness of a politician.//

"All good so far" I say to myself as I stare into the brightly lit abyss of the computer monitor, and hope beyond hope that this will be the one time that I begin a piece, and end it all in one attempt.

//Upon arrival at the War Academy the young man is greeted by the face of The War Deity. Unlike his name would lead you he is mortal, but proving that is nothing short of impossible based on his combat record: undefeated in 35 years of dueling anyone from nobles, knights, even his lords themselves. "Darn you Caleb why are you always so late" he hollers directly at the young man. For the first time Caleb gets a good look at his mentor's face; ridden with acne, and battle scars. Eyes unevenly spaced, nose clearly the most prominent feature of his many battles. "Because I hate this place" the boy answers equally enraged.//

This is actually turning out amazing I don't think I've ever moved at this rate on any particular project. My level of excitement flies way out of proportion at every paragraph marker. At this rate I'll be ready to begin another major project by tomorrow morning.

//After his eight hour day at the War Academy learning mainly about famous battles such as William the Conqueror's destruction of the Anglo-Saxon people where he feigned retreat to lure out enemy soldiers before unleashing an assault never before seen by the likes of man. That was Caleb's daily routine: walk to "school", walk home, study constantly, and silently beg for an early death. Quite the unhappy fellow Caleb is, but at the same time he has the will of the most stubborn mule. Right now being 15 he's nearly ready for graduation, and apprenticeship under a low-level lieutenant probably//, and maybe afterword being awarded a small squadron of maybe five or six men.

"That's all for now I'll pick up in a few hours" I tell myself. I go to my refrigerator, and acquire myself a glass of fresh squeezed, homemade lemonade which never fails to inspire even more tales which I definitely cannot wait to put into action on a piece.

The next morning I'm just putting the finishing touches on the story of young Caleb.

//With his lieutenant dead on the battlefield it falls upon Caleb's shoulders to lead the squad of no less than 100 men to victory in this harsh battle against the Wraiths who rule us. He chooses to order three men to take up squadrons of their own evenly dividing the men into groups of around 25, and giving him a smaller group to control for my first time in a position of command. The three men whom Caleb had chosen are//: William a large man built like the war horse he rides, Gordon a much smaller man also much like his horse, and Jacob a downright twiggy man to be in the military, but he rides with speed and grace. Caleb //sends William to wheel his squad to the left of major combat, but to keep his archers here under him. Gordon he orders to the right with the same command to leave his archers with Caleb. Jacob, he has separate his archers from the rest of his men//, //and defend the front from the advancing few creatures that had broken our main line. Caleb commands my squad to join with Jacob, and fight to defend him while he orders all the archers to angle shots high above the enemy line. After several vollies of arrows are fired and fall behind the enemies line of scrimmage to the unprotected troops behind Caleb sends a scout to both William, and Gordon ordering their troops forward. Finally he dares a quick glance at his own line of defense and see it dwindling hopelessly though Jacob seems to be holding his own quite well taking them down in twos and threes. As Caleb watches another man collapse, the Wraith he was fighting begins to approach young Caleb slowly taking in his apparent fear, and as it approaches he finally sees the creatures that had ruled Guillotar for so long: Almost like a wisp of smoke they appear wearing no visible armor, but with an amorphous quality that makes them very difficult to strike. No real color or features to them they just appear as almost a smoke trail carrying the most unique broadsword I'd ever seen. The hilt was made of the finest gold wrapped in layers of silk, and embroidered with dyed diamonds. But the hilt isn't what interests Caleb it's the blade itself: almost appearing as though made of steel flame it has the same amorphous quality its wielder possesses, but the steel is black as a moonless night deep in the forest with minute silver inlays.//

This story is coming together unlike any other I've ever written I'm tempted to finally take credit for something of mine. I decide to end it quickly before the thought consumes me.

//Before the creature can even strike at him it releases a horrid shriek of pure agony as an arrow penetrates its body, and it crumple in front of me. I glance around for the shooter, and spot him saluting me before turning and firing at more of them. Jacob looks to be getting exhausted, yet still chops more down. Caleb glances up at the main battle and see us actually pushing them back "Can't be long now men keep it up they're running out of troops!" he shouts the words to reinspire my men to victory. Finally the inevitable; Jacob slices two down with a wide arcing swing of his broadsword then before he can turn to face the rest the fiery blade of the enemy begins to protrude from his chest//, //and Caleb watches as the life leave his eyes before the rest of him falls limp on the blade signifying his departure from our world. Before anymore damage can be done Caleb watches the Wraiths turn toward their command where its clear the battle's ended in our favor. "Unleash Hell!" I shout causing a volley of arrows to fire at the remaining Wraiths striking down the vast majority of them, and leaving the rest with a broken morale. As they begin floating upward (something I'd yet to see) I realize that these rulers were not true enemies, but the products of death during battle. I guess adrenaline can follow into the afterlife causing these creatures to be brutal, and deadly. With that Caleb rallies his men, and showers them all with praise at the victory. Then the ride back to the War Academy begins in silence//

"And done" I sigh in relief as the thought runs through me one more time to take credit for it, and publish this story. Now though, the thoughts come from a different part of my mind. Usually these desires come with the selfish desire for fame. Now I feel drenched in pride for this accomplishment.