From Plan to Paper: Feb 27
In these posts I would like to give you an idea of how my writing transforms from the micro-plan stage to the post-Write or Die stage. Click on the images below to see what the plan looks like. It begins halfway down the first page.
After the second image, I'll show you what came out in my Splurge.
All was silent as Eoin left the room, floorboards squeaking beneath his feet. The door was even louder as he closed it behind him. Faine stood on the landing outside, staring into the trees. His eyes were slightly narrowed.
Eoin joined him by the balustrade. “Why did you leave? We were just getting started.”
“That man. The one who was late. When he turned to me... I have no doubts at all that he is my father. The man who left us. Who killed my mother. That is him.”
They both stood silently. The villagers continued about their daily lives. Stopping in the street to chat, or carrying buckets of water from the river. Maintaining their houses, or reading a book. At moments like these, time seemed to stop. But life always continued. It didn't mean anything to anyone else.
Eoin spoke softly. “He... he killed your mother?”
“Yes. Well, no. I... I think it was me who killed her, really.”
“What?”
“I was a stupid child, ten years old. I had heard stories of a place where the Aura of Endures resided.”
“You have Endures Aura.”
“Yes. I sought it out. I was an adventurous child. I ventured deep into the forest to find the hollow tree stump where, if you looked inside, you would find that it led to a small pit beneath the ground. Here is where the Aura would be found. I jumped inside and discovered engravings of warriors all over the walls. After that all I remember is waking up and feeling different. Like there was something new inside me.” Faine laughed. “I was certain my father would be so proud of me. Then I got home, and I realised I was wrong. As soon as I told him what I had achieved, he hit me across the face and stormed out of the house, saying he wasn't going to wait around for me so slit his throat.”
Eoin shivered.
“Mother cried for three days after that, and then she became bed-ridden. It must have been two weeks before she died of love-sickness. You see, it was my fault she died. I should never have searched for this cursed thing.” Faine stared at the backs of his hands.
“No, it was your father who was in the wrong. He chose to leave, and he had no good reason to.”
Faine placed his hands back on the balustrade and sniffed. “Thank you, brother.” He raised his head and whistled the soft, sad melody that was the connection between his and Eoin’s fathers.
“May I speak to your father?” said Eoin.
“And why would you want to do that?”
“If he knew my father well, then I think I should inform him of my father’s passing.”
Faine smiled solemnly. “It is none of my business. Do what you will.”
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