A Mind in Motion

     Often, when a story hits me, the impulse to write it down is so physical that if I don't do so, I feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin. The jotted notes are usually a jumble of things--sketches, random details, colors, dialog and so forth. Sometimes I'm just left with the story.      Other times, though, I am inspired to do more, perhaps turn the sketch into a drawing, or create a poem to go along with the color details, or--in this instance--have the impulsive need to jot down a sticky note as well. They may not even come together in the end.      Instead they become their own little thing, pieces of creativity spawned by a single visual that had the power to ripple through multiple outlets. I love when I have these inspirations--they drive you forward in madness only a good muse can induce, and I'm always astounded by the final outcome.      "She stood on the precipice and made the choice to fall through the clouds like a rain drop..."

     When I think about why I love to write--how heavy my interest is in history--and how much I enjoy writing unique contrasting characters, I always come back to my family. I grew up in a very rural area where the nearest town is twenty minutes away. Your neighbors go generations back, as does your own legacy, and you battle with mother nature to find a balance with the past--while living in the present--and worrying over the future.      With my Grandmother passing unexpectedly last week, my family--which is large and spends as much time together as is possible--gathered and shared stories while we said goodbye. There was lots of laughter, more so than tears, and a very loving sense of endless time. An odd way to put it, I'm sure, but when you have so many generations collected together, you can't help but feel endless. It is something that has always been present with me, especially when I travel around where I grew up. It didn't matter if you only spent five minutes i

     Not a sound escaped after the violence that had shattered the ball drew silent. Mouths hung open, eyes remained wide and throats fell mute as crimson seeped from the fallen figure splayed in front of their Princess's throne. Her royal dark gown--as bejeweled as the twinkling gas clouds littering the vastness of space around their sailing vessel--was now soiled with the blood of her beloved and pooled around her trembling frame as she knelt to bring the gasping man into her arms.      Crystal teardrops trailed down her milky white cheeks while she lovingly pulled tangled dark curls back from the quickly waning face flickering with brilliant dying purple irises. Air wheezed from his gurgling lungs trapped beneath his once pristine opal-colored Captain's jacket but he nestled into her, clear in his mind that these last precious moments were all they had. He reached shaky hands up and latched them onto hers, fingers twining like souls that never got to bind beyond their he

     She stared at the shimmering pool before her, a faint reflection of herself curiously staring back as she took in the glittering stars in a void of darkness. It was unsettling to see the night sky before her instead of above, especially in a cavern on the edge of the world. She had heard stories from fellow Knights and old Mages that their Kingdom bordered oblivion, that the ancients of past had wielded the power of the universe and torn the fabric of existence around them. She had passed them off as fables of feeble minds. Now though, she felt herself ignorant of all she had known.      She drew in a deep steady breath, her toned frame flexing under her dark leather cuirass. The palm of her tanned left hand rested on the golden pommel of her short sword, while her right finally brought the unusual amulet she had been carrying, up between her and the barrier. She stared at the glowing orbs that levitated with a white aura mere inches above her open hand. They rotated on their