In which I participate in the Pinterest Storyboard Party

Hello, dear people!

As some of you may know, I rarely write creatively.  At least, not fiction.  I LURVE writing analytically about fiction, and I like writing devotionally, but making up stories hasn't really been on my radar for a while.  When I was younger, I wrote short stories a LOT, and I enjoyed it.  But, due to various circumstances (and also just loss of interest/time, I suppose), my authorial inspiration sort of fizzled out as I got older.  

However.  

I think it may be coming back, which makes me excited.  :D  I've had a few vague ideas for potential stories to write "someday when I have time" (haha) for a while, but recently two have really been taking more shape and sticking in my mind more often.  

So, not wanting to be behind the times, I decided to go out on a limb and make some Pinterest storyboards for The Ideas.  And soon after, having actually loved that process, I saw a post of Hamlette's talking about the 2017 Pinterest Storyboard Party, initiated by Elisabeth Grace Foley.  And, dearies, as the title of this post may or may not have informed you, I have decided to participate.  Of course, by the time most of you read this, it will probably already be the last day of the party, but better late than never, right?

As I said, I'm quite new to this, so we'll see how this goes.

The first idea I'll share with you all is one I've mentioned previously:  a continuation of Susan Pevensie's story.  (If any of you don't know who Susan Pevensie is, I shall swallow my horror and tell you that she is a character from C.S. Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia.  Hopefully nobody needed that clarification :-P)  This will take place several years after The Last Battle, but will be full of flashbacks and memories, etc. 

// Once a King or Queen //

Now for some snippet ideas!  I haven't really begun writing anything, but these are just some ideas I have so far.

On a drizzly, rather miserable evening in London, Susan Pevensie walked slowly into her apartment. She looked profoundly dejected, but those who knew her often felt that it must have been many years now since Susan Pevensie had looked anything but profoundly dejected.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Of all the siblings, Edmund had always seemed to understand Susan the best.  In point of fact, though, Susan reflected, he had always seemed to understand each of the siblings better than the others did.  After their first foray into Narnia, Edmund had become quieter, but he had also become kinder and more sympathetic.  While Lucy and Peter both found it difficult to tolerate Susan's tendencies towards skepticism and pessimism, Edmund never upbraided her for it.  He said he had often felt the same way before -- and then he would get that reflective look in his eyes which meant that he was thinking of Aslan.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Look here, Su," Edmund had replied. "I know all this new rot about agnosticism and existentialism and all the other isms sound nice and convenient, and they seem to provide a tidy explanation of things. But the difficulty is that I know all too well what Aslan saved me from in Narnia, and how he taught me to look for another Savior in this world, to be able to doubt the truth of the old ways -- that is, the things Mum and Dad brought us up to believe -- anymore.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 Memories began flooding Susan's consciousness -- memories of crystalline streams and vibrant woods, of magnificent parties held for days in rooms flickering with firelight and comradely laughter, of a wardrobe and a lamppost, of music that seemed to sound like silver itself, of her three siblings, of long talks with the naiads and dryads, of happiness, of a time when fear seemed very far away, and of a great and glorious Lion. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The other idea I'm chewing on is a novel about a woman who was requested to kill herself by every single person on the planet.  (I know, I know, but stay with me.)  It's difficult to summarize the idea, since most of the key elements are still coming together in my mind, but basically:  there's a boy who finds this woman one day, a generation or two later.  She lives as a hermit, since the antipathy against her is still very much alive.  And it'll be about how he gets to know her and what he learns from her about self-worth, God, forgiveness, etc.  It also may or may not be set in a dystopian time/place -- I don't quite know yet.  Like I said, I really can't provide a synopsis at present, but here's the board.  :-P

 // The Hated //

And zee snippets:

The world was slanted that day.  

Why that particular detail is the one that stands out so prominently in my mind among the multitude that made that day extraordinary, I couldn't say, but I do know that as I climbed Edda's Knoll that afternoon, I happened to glance up and subsequently noticed that the world was unprecedentedly askew.  

That is to say, the world itself was not actually slanted, of course, but the sky definitely was, and since I was climbing a hill, the sensation that immediately presented itself to me was that the ground and the trees and the birds were, as well.  The profusion of cumulonimbus clouds were tilted at a sharply diagonal angle, and their murky gray and blue tint seemed to threaten malevolence rather than intend to dole it out, given the fact that though it smelled like rain there was not the sign of a single drop forthcoming.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The hut left much to be desired in the way of appearance, I ruminated as I crouched behind my boulder.  It was neither neat enough to be picturesque nor squalid enough to be penurious; it was merely rather disheveled and weatherbeaten, with a clothesline strung in no very aesthetic manner about its face and assorted odds and ends stacked along its exterior walls.  It was, to be ruthlessly frank, slovenly.  I didn't like to be critical of an adventure so early on, but really, this middle ground was rather disappointing for a solitary cabin mysteriously hidden away in the mountains.  One expects a hermit's hideout to be either impossibly dainty or unspeakably ominous, not bourgeois.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

"Of course," she added calmly, "I haven't exactly been 'in the loop' for quite a while.  You see, many years ago I found out that the world, in perfect cordiality but total sincerity, had high hopes for my suicide.  Naturally, this led to some social difficulties."

I stared at her for a moment.  "The world?  As in, the whole world?"  Then, naturally, I began to laugh at such a preposterous notion.  "That's ridiculous and impossible -- how on earth could you know with certainty that the entire human population personally wanted you to kill yourself?  Every single human being on the planet?"

For the first time, I saw a brief glint of what could have been hardness or cynicism in her eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came, and she gave a rueful chuckle.  "Never underestimate the capacity of the human race to find ways and means of facilitating its cruelty, dear boy.  I could know with certainty because they all signed a document making the request -- a petition, if you will.  It was rather a lengthy document.  You must keep in mind, though, that the planet's population was significantly smaller at that time than you might think, what with the unfortunate crater incident."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"I like the way good books echo," I remarked as she poured our hot chocolate.

She looked at me, clearly amused but interested.  "Explain."

"I mean, the the way that stories echo through the years -- not to be too cheesy," I replied.  "The cultures and people and even the civilizations vanish, but the thoughts of the authors are always there.  And more often than not, they're influencing the formation of new cultures and people and civilizations.  It's like they contribute to the music of history -- complex and varied, but always swelling into unity and beauty.  And don't laugh at me," I continued, as I saw her grinning.  "I know you've thought the same thing before.  Why, one of your own favorite authors likened God's creation to music, didn't he?"

"You're getting too cheesy," she laughed.  "But you're right."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When I stopped to consider our acquaintance, I often realized that, in spite of every rational expectation, she was more full of  love and joy and peace than anybody I had ever met before.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"I find the fact of death to be the most thoroughly unacceptable institution there is," I muttered, fists clenched and tears, despite my best efforts, beginning to escape my eyelids.  

"So does He," she responded quietly. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ta-ta for now!  I hope you all enjoyed that, and do be sure to check out the fun over at Elisabeth Grace Foley's blog!