Over the last month, my Three Katherines have been increasingly shunted aside by the tale that's fitfully possessed me since Christmas. This one is not so much a fairy-story, as a dark wild folk-tale from a country two steps sideways from my own. Its working title is The Storming of Lindowe Linn. I won't say much more about it at this stage, for fear of jinxing it. I begin to sense a danger in telling a tale's own story before it is truly told. It is the tale itself I wish to tell, and not the tale of how I dream I told it!
One new departure for me is that the lead character for the first part, which I've now finished, is a likeable scoundrel who descends through crime after crime until my all-tolerant narrator has just flipped him off in passing as 'that bag of all worm-bags'. It has been sinister fun watching him rack up the bill. Now I turn to the collectors - all of whose company I enjoy much more than his.
Such larks! Such winds for them to soar on!
Nature's Bounty - (This poem is brought to you courtesy of one too many forage enthusiasts being Wrong on the Internet about the merits of nomming on random bits of black ni...
1 year ago