Silver Pen

United States

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Message from Writer

I came here to love, learn, laugh, and hone my skills.
I hope to return the favor to my fellow Write the Worldarians.
The pen is mightier than the sword -- especially if it's launched from an elastic band. ~Me and my awesome sister Éowyn

Published Work

My December Writing Competition 2018

Is This the Finale?

    December.
    Is it just another name on the calendar?  Is it just thirty-one more days in a tangle of days that run together like wet watercolor paint?  Is it just another part of a flat, joyless existence?  Is this the grand finale of the cycle of our lives?
    Or do I need an attitude adjustment?  To squint my eyes against the snow glare, strain my ears against the hiss of the wind, and snuff the freezing air until I find what I'm looking for?
    December up in Minnesota is not for those who love warmth and sunshine.  Lately, it hasn't even been for those who love snow, steaming breath, sleds, and skates.  What it has been is cold.  We dip down to -40 degrees Farenheit at our lowest, while 40 above is Providential bliss.  We don't get a whole lot of snow at once anymore, but let me tell you right now...

Novel Writing Competition 2018

Diplomacy

    Two officers of the United Space Navy entered the court of King David the Just with butterflies in their stomachs.  King David would be no trivial foe if they messed up these negotiations, though he hadn't yet shown any hostile intent.  On the other hand, his allegiance would deter the International Starfarers, a marauding group of bandits, from trying to steal territory from the USN, which could prevent a war.
    The court, simple in its expensiveness, was a sea of vibrant color that dashed against King David's golden lion throne and Queen Abigail's silver eagle throne.  The sunlight through the many windows set the thrones and robes ablaze.  The reflected hues enriched the drab gray of the officer's uniforms, while the male officer's red hair resembled a signal fire lit on top of his stocky body.
    King David moved his whiplike frame with authority as he stood, his simple golden robes swirling.  "Greetings!  Please,...

Why I Write

Why Do I Write?

    Why do I write?  Who asked this quetion?  Why does anyone write?  Why did Leonardo da Vinci paint the Mona Lisa?  Why did Michelangelo sculpt the Pieta?  Why do toddlers scribble on any paper they can get their hands on with whatever happens to be lying on the floor?  You might as well ask a bird why it builds a nest!  Why deny a part of my being, the creativity that comes from bearing God's image?  
    I write to create worlds.  I write to defend the weak, strengthen the strong, administer justice to the wrongdoers, pardon the repentant, love the unloved, and praise my God.  I write to make my audience smile, laugh, frown, shake their heads, cry, love my characters, never expect what comes next, and hopefully learn something good along the way.  I write to explore tough topics, help myself answer moral dilemmas, and share my answers to problems. I write to prevent myself from going...

Novel Writing Competition 2018

Diplomacy

    Two officers of the United Space Navy entered the court of King David the Just with butterflies in their stomachs.  King David would be no trivial foe if they messed up these negotiations.
    The court was a sea of vibrant color that dashed against King David's golden lion throne and Queen Abigail's silver eagle throne.  The sunlight through the many windows set the thrones and robes ablaze.  The reflected hues enriched the drab gray of the officer's uniforms, while the male officer's red hair resembled a torch.
    King David stood.  "Greetings!  Please, name yourselves and be seated."
    "I am captain Erik Llewellen of the USN Starfarer.  This is my commander, Hope Starwender."
    King David sat and studied them intently.  "You are the captain of the single ship your commanders sent, and this is your first officer?  How nieve.""  He leaned back in his throne with hooded eyes and a masklike...

Turned to Stone

Seeds of Epics

    Three empty bottles sitting on a windowsill.  Each with a story.  Each with a message.  Each with a name.  Each with a victim.

    "We never knew what happened to Hunter.  He just -- left.  Took a piece of my heart with him, but who's counting?  Anyway, I figured, hey, you wanna find a hunter?  You gotta be one yourself. And my comfort zone was like, nah, and my adventure side looked like a dog that had been invited for a walk, so I say, hey, self, how's about we become a hunter..."
    Hunter listened as the stream of words flowed on.


    Vermin.  Dogs.  Jades.  Find.  Kill.  Avenge.

    The raider surveys the fertile valley below.  He points with his crop to a small hamlet wreathed with trails of smoke.  His lieutenant nods -- and lets slip the dogs of war.

Forward Backward

The Elements

Ignis
He traces in ashes.
Cold, breath-frost dancing, alone, 
His footprints make marks in the pure snow.

He dances in fire.
Free, glow-lines tracing, exultant,
His hands rip rents in the dark smoke.
     
He piles the wood.
Strong, muscle-cords pulling, expectant,
His grin puts pain in his cheeks.

Aqua
He maps the currents.
Intent, thought-gears clicking, diligent,
His will pushes paths in the sea.

He rides the waves.
Shouting, adrenaline-cry swelling, alive,
His joy laces laughter in the tides.

He builds his bark.
Thirsty, work-song lilting, sweaty,
His hammer hunts in the hull.

Aer
She tosses the waves.
Laughing, wind-cheeks dimpling, playful,
Her fancies flow in the air.

She drives the storm.
Fierce, hail-spear holding, screaming,
Her rage roils in the thunderheads.

She marshals the clouds.
Attentive, breeze-crook wielding, peaceful,
Her royalty reflects in the river.

Terra
She cradles the coals.
Warm, mother-arms rocking, gentle,
Her smiles smoulder in the winter.

She feeds the furnace.
Plentiful, life-fuels heaping, queenly, ...

Forward Backward

The Elements

Ignis
He traces in ashes.
Cold, breath-frost dancing, alone, 
His footprints make marks in the pure snow.

He dances in fire.
Free, glow-lines tracing, exultant,
His hands rip rents in the dark smoke.
     
He piles the wood.
Strong, muscle-cords pulling, expectant,
 His grin puts pain in his cheeks.

Aqua
He maps the currents.
Intent, thought-gears clicking, diligent,
His will pushes paths in the sea.

He rides the waves.
Shouting, adrenaline-cry swelling, alive,
His joy laces laughter in the tides.

He builds his bark.
Thirsty, work-song lilting, sweaty,
His hammer hunts in the hull.

Aer
She swaddles the world.
Humming, mother-heart bursting, soft,
Her blanket blows in all life.

She weaves the clouds.
silent, breath-fingers searching, adroit,
Her mantle murmurs in the trees.

She threads the wind.
Singing, gust-scissors snipping, happy,
Her work whispers in the wilds.

Terra
She gathers the stubble.
Sleepy, life-fuels exhausted, languid,
Her regeneration rests in the quiet.

She gives the harvest.
Smiling, earth-presents heaping, plentiful, ...

Unplug

Performance

    I will be the first to admit that I have little to no experience with social media.  However, I am a writer, and I have an imagination.  I also know what it's like to feel the need to perform.  So, I'll tell you a story, just like I'm talking to you in this print that stares bald-facedly at you from the screen, and I'll try to explain what I think about living life without an audience.
     I have performance issues.  I hope they are getting better through the love and grace of God, because sometimes the progress of our spirits and souls is so gradual as to be rather hard to detect by ourselves.  This need to perform, and I know it too well for my tastes, comes from this question: "Am I good enough?"
    Am I?  Are you? 
    Maybe that's the question we're trying to answer when we stress out over...

Impermanence

No Assurance

A young man stands here.
Lightning flashes, and where he
Stood, the Grim Reaper.