Lately I have been deep in my uni thesis. This has meant I have basically been reading and re-reading and re-re-re-re-re-re-re-reading my own work. I am so sick of it. I don’t want to read those same words again.
The tower contained only one scroll of parchment and one quill. When she’d filled the parchment she was quite pleased. It was a good story about damsels and dragons.
Years later and she does not see it that way. Every word has been scratched out and replaced several times. She had read it so many times, she’d managed to find several overarching metaphors that revealed her inner psyche, one of which seemed to point to her being reincarnated later in the eternal hell of a strange man’s body who folk called “Kyle Sandilands”. She’d spend all day staring at the reality of the smooth round wall that surrounded her only to dream of being trapped in a worse prison.
So one day, with no ink left in the pen, she ripped up every word of the foul text and rearranged them. It took her months to find a combination that worked. But as she worked, her nightmares about the man folk called Sir Sandilands began to fade. Eventually she had re-written her story. The dragon’s wings had been cut by a beautiful and deadly damsel, but the dragon was cunning and built a new pair.
When she woke that morning, she was flying through the clouds. The tower was a distant speck, and her scales felt warm in the sun.
PS. Tomorrow I will be exactly half-way through my challenge! So I’m hopping on my friend Sam’s radio show and writing a story for him live on air! Tune in to phoenixradio anytime from 3:30-4:40.
freyawrightbrough 