This last week was hectic and painful, for various reasons, and I shant get into them because some of them are quite personal.
But even in that time--when all hell was breaking loose--a new idea of a story popped into my head. I don't have a title yet, but I know what it's about.
It's about a story. The question is, is the story real or just made up?
Here's what I will reveal: Great-grandfather Colin tells stories to the children at bedtime, each night a new and exciting tale. Sometimes about pirates and the high seas; sometimes about fabulous kings and princesses and quests filled with glory and honor.
But on this night, Colin sat in his chair before the fire, the eerie glow reflected in his stark-white, bristly beard, and as he lit his pipe--which depending on the story was a magic wand, a sword, or other such prop--he muttered to himself, eyes closed, faint and inaudible--as if he was remembering something old and hidden deep in his mind. Perhaps it is his first memories; it may be his first adventure as a boy (he had quite many, apparently), more than should fill many lifetimes--maybe it is his greatest tale.
The children all sit in a semi-circle at his feet, eagerly waiting for his first few words--they were always very dramatic. Some of them fidgeting mightily in glee as this was always one of the best parts of the day...the wonder that would come from him.
With a pause, Colin inhaled deeply, and with a "snap" his eyes were opened, almost as if he'd heard something--or something awoke him from deep concentration; and then his eyes focused, lids lowered, and his words came forth with smoke.
"I am the dragon healer."
What happens next...well, we'll just see if I ever get to writing it down. But I know what happens, I just need to get there first.