Ways and Means

This year, I participated in Reddit Secret Santa. In the Questionnaire, it asked what I would do to improve the world. My answer, was to write more fiction that is hopeful instead of dark and cynical.

My Santa sent me two books with the message "The world needs more hopeful fiction"
Writer's Workshop of Science Fiction and Fantasy (edited by Michael Knost)
Now Write! (Laurie Lamson)

This has given me both a bit of a painful poke, as I've not been putting much of any effort into writing, even when I do have an opportunity; but even more it has given me a bit of hope that maybe I can do something with this. I need to write more, I know this. And I know that its hard and I need to forgive myself for not being brilliant at writing immediately.

Right now, where I am, I need to try. That's all I can do is try, but its enough for now.

Awaited Return

The house was dark and cold. Of course it was; no one had entered the place in over a year, and it had been still longer since anyone had actually lived there.
She sighed and dropped a small pack to the floor. All of her belongings fit in such a small space, and she wasn't sure whether that was impressive or depressing. Wood was stacked near the fireplace, very dry, easily kindled. Building the fire took her mind off other things for a few minutes. Paper from her pockets for tinder, some large shavings torn free with her knife, and the fire was crackling. Flickering light cast about the place. Some of the shadows were banished, but that only served to reveal the dust and cobwebs that filled every corner.

Tomorrow, yes tomorrow she would clean up and set the old house to rights. Tonight had been filled with enough. She was tired, both physically by the long journey, and in spirit from the sight of the place.

Too many memories were bound here, and too much old pain.

Her sleep would not be easy tonight.