To Say Nothing of Inspiration

           So. . .
     
           Oh, right I came here to say something.

           I've been writing. (it feels good to say that.) Usually I try to write scenes in the order they happen. Buuut, you know, sometimes, I just cannot get a certain scene out because:

           The inspiration is just not there. Zero inspirationo.

           This particular scene was actually a story that someone was telling. A vital legend that shaped some of the superstitions of the Vorban people.

           (Maybe that's weird. A story within a story. Some people have laughed at that. I kind of ignore them. . .)

           Though I didn't know how to write this scene, I did have a mental check list of things that I wanted it to include:

- Shrels (huge spidery beasts, because nothing is scarier than spiders)

- children's nightmares

- a blacksmith's hammer ringing all night

- the silence when it is not ringing

- a narrator driven mad by the Shrels

           How all of this was going to fit together? *shrugs* I hadn't a clue. But after skipping around it for weeks, I finally sat down and decided this:

 If this is supposed to be a weird, creepy-ish kind of scene/story, maybe doing something weird or different will help me out.

          What were these things I broken routine with?

wear hat
wear necklace with definition of "intrepid" pendant
open a new document
mess with the size and style of the font
turn off lights in room
write whatever comes to mind, immediately
no editing

           The product came out something like this:

the story of the Shrels                    

nightmares stop
in children’s sleep
under the metal watchmen’s keep

but dare he stop
his metalwork
and lay his hammer down to shirk

the air so still
calm and clearer
is only then when they draw nearer

from beyond the
waters green
is only then you hear their scream

for the Shrel
its hunt is best
in the silence of its prey’s rest

it waits intently
for the quiet
so in their nightmares it may slip

awake again
they never will
but only to the living chill

of the bloodless
empty shells
whose life has left with the Shrels

lonely, longing
and wandering
mad from too much pondering

Of the Shrels
so dark and shrieking
little children do not go seeking,

keep far from
thine enemies,
seek not monsters such as these


           I changed the font so you could actually read it. I orginally wasn't going for a poem. But from this I got a basic story going in my head and continued to write the tale of a wandering man who had encountered the Shrels at a very young age. It's not supposed to be completely coherent because he is mad after all. But at the same time, he's kind of long-winded. So much so, I question if the story is creepy and weird like it's supposed to be, or if it's just lame and weird. :P

           But it's been written! Finally.

           So what do you do when the inspiration gears just lock up? Do you have a box of strange antics to restore to? Do you try something different in your routine? Or do you just plod on like the best of the good faithful writers?