WRITING & STORYTELLING
We are planning a storytelling area. It needs some work band the path to make it easy to get to. Rusty metal from an old roof needs clearing but it has been in the open long enough to grow ferns and moss. It looks like an old mini quarry and is perfect with some effort as it almost has a stage as well.
This beautiful area will be available early in 2018 for Storytellers to use. We are working on the access path.
The Storytelling is going to be part of the new Trust that we are setting up as it is in the area covered by the Trust. We will try to keep it in keeping with the Medieval theme and we are looking for someone to make us a couple of Storytelling Chairs. We have an ancient tree that has fallen down on the track which leads to the Storytelling area (which was an old mini quarry). We have a lot of timber in that tree and it is now available for sale to woodworkers for projects. We would happily trade that wood for a couple of chairs made out of that tree.
We are looking for storytellers who would like to use this area.
I am a compulsive scribbler who must turn out novels or I just feel wrong. That doesn't make me a good writer but having a book to publish is a lot better than having nothing at all.
Whether I should study or not is a question I have often mused. If it would make my writing more structured would it take away the spirit in which I write. I write to find out what happens next, so a story plan is out of the question.
I understand that peace and quiet is what is needed to plan and write a good novel. Finding that spot isn't easy but I have just done an experiment. I managed to write "No Strings Attached" off grid. It was mostly a retype but I used a Lenovo Tablet and an iWantit keyboard for tablets. It was plugged into the solar but also I used those power blocks, some from Home Bargains, some from the pound shop and two larger ones. This could easily be adapted to run from a solar panel and a tent. So, if anyone would like to come and write a book in peace next year we are offering rough camping at fifteen pounds a night!
Ancient tree, standing strong
The duration of life
To fall, it’s day done
Its time has come
To be immortalised
Lest dead wood just rots
The old time past
The new time beginning
Crying out to be, to tell, to know
A journey from seed to tree
Mourned for a moment
But, not the end of life
The tree spirit will live on
As much more and more to some
Timely end for a new beginning
Supporting stories forever more
A chair is needed, the tree shall provide
Honoured old one many shall respect you
Hopefully for generations to come.
We are looking for a woodworker who would be prepared to turn this tree into two storytelling chairs in exchange for keeping the rest of the timber from the tree.
The Forgotten Castle by Angela Timms
Prelude to a novel...
“Why?” Widget looked out over the earthworks, her black curls framing her cute cloth face. The Frixian imbued puppet had been playing with the workmen’s digger while they went off for parts. Nobody human was around so she was free to move.
Gadget let go of the digger’s lever she was about to pull and try out. Her pigtails swinging under her sewn on hat that was part of her head. Her puppet hands made firm by the Frixian that inhabited the puppet body. “Well I suppose there was no reason to remember it. It is an old thing.”
Widget was watching a small sparrow who had landed on a twig nearby. “I agree. So why?”
Gadget giggled. “Is it cursed? Is there some dark story?”
Widget shuddered at the thought of it. “I doubt it. If it was there would be stories. Just down there is where ships unloaded to smaller boats so there could have been pirates or smugglers. This place probably defended Llangain from them. When the English people built the Fifteenth Century place it was forgotten and abandoned.”
Gadget thought about it. “Not any more. We will bring it back to life won’t we? I can’t wait to see Medieval tents and people in costume.”
That All Hallows Eve, in the ancient woodland, something stirred. The mists of the past that had veiled and protected the place rolled back and the earth signed in relief.
Deep in the depths of the earth a spirit fully awoke after hundreds of years of slumber. He had been partially awake for nearly a year. This was the same spirit that had made the Old Castle hard to find on the internet when people were looking. Now it reached out and felt what it had willingly invited to its home.
In the earth cold teeth bit into the dried moss and leaves. Claws dragged themselves through the earth. It became he and he opened his eyes as he became again who he was, is and always will be. He couldn’t move. Years had passed and the earth had packed down hard around him. The cave mouth was far away now, merely a hole beneath tree roots to all who passed it by. Some commented it was pretty but none knew it’s purpose.
His kind were forgotten now and that made him weak. It was only the belief of the new landowners that had got him this far. A fluke of luck that despite searching all the web for potential places to move to that the place had only been found at the last moment while looking for places within forty miles of a place in Devon.
At the first moment that the fey kin had stepped on the hallowed earth their presence had started to wake him up. Constricting like a snake around him he felt the earth and heard again it’s ancient heartbeat. It fully woke him and made him feel again that he was real.
Now he longed to feel the sun on his skin and the moon on his scales. He wanted to live again and to be.
Forgotten for so long, the place a name that even the maps did not recognise as real. But, real it was, real and ancient. The velvet wing of forgetfulness had taken those who built it away and the nearby ruin of the old house bore the name of the green castle. The house beside it was known after it and how that bit had once been part of the farm. Cut off from the castle now and the ancient land, it was just a place. It was not his concern. Only the ancient earthworks brought him life, like it had before and like any other ancient place did.
Only by belief could he return and with him the magic which the world needed could return too. The legends of Merlin who had been born so close were but mist too but the mist that was his story was becoming real again.
Suddenly he felt warmth on his tail which rested beneath the ancient spring. It was a tiny pinprick but it was enough. He felt it, a tiny flame reflected in the quartz in the earth, barely detectable. It carried a spiritual light to his dark bound eyes. The light was enough on the night when the veils were thin. Fuelled by it he writhed and twisted and squirmed his way free of the leaf made soil. He was free.
Bound in stone his visions a world had encompassed. Now the world was his to feel again. In a moment the history of the world and all the information that there was flooded his mind. In that moment he assimilated it, ordered and processed it. Then he cried.
He whispered. “It is time for magic to return. Come my people, come out of the shadows.”
All around him tiny and tall creatures flapped their wings. They pulled their swords and their armour glinted in the candlelight from the tea light that graced the makeshift alter above the spring.
Dark and Light Fey stood side by side united by a common commander and ready for a common enemy. The sleeping dragon had awoken and now it was their time.
Unsullied over the years the land still held its energy. Unsullied by evil it’s abandonment was it’s salvation.
The spirit dragon smiled. “So it begins.”