tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3022413452547277809.post7243293883477465618..comments2023-07-06T07:33:06.262-04:00Comments on * Writers' Spark * Every story has to start somewhere *: Prompt: The blind painterUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3022413452547277809.post-61017010783792286422013-03-22T19:55:21.552-04:002013-03-22T19:55:21.552-04:00Thanks! I had no idea where it was going at the s...Thanks! I had no idea where it was going at the start, but once I knew it was like it could not have gone anywhere else (if that makes sense?)Annenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3022413452547277809.post-38581357841606038452013-03-22T19:53:45.810-04:002013-03-22T19:53:45.810-04:00Oh, thanks! And I appreciate you doing this. Hav...Oh, thanks! And I appreciate you doing this. Having to post something really makes me keep going when I might have otherwise not.Annenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3022413452547277809.post-50669296457185032522013-03-21T22:39:27.361-04:002013-03-21T22:39:27.361-04:00Thanks, Anne. You bring up a good point - I don...Thanks, Anne. You bring up a good point - I don't indicate whether I consider a piece "finished". I didn't think of this one as complete, for instance. You're giving me great feedback and ideas for improvement on the blog itself, as well as my writing! I appreciate you, Anne!<br />Margaret S. McGrawhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18301618521427459626noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3022413452547277809.post-41573960525590308392013-03-21T22:37:11.010-04:002013-03-21T22:37:11.010-04:00Oh, I really got a chill at the end of this! I lov...Oh, I really got a chill at the end of this! I loved how much he described his memory of light and the curtains. Good one, Anne!Margaret S. McGrawhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18301618521427459626noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3022413452547277809.post-89861933592130219922013-03-21T17:59:51.901-04:002013-03-21T17:59:51.901-04:00I really got into yours! It felt so abrupt when i...I really got into yours! It felt so abrupt when it ended; I wanted to read more...Annenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3022413452547277809.post-85902344934644419762013-03-21T17:52:46.400-04:002013-03-21T17:52:46.400-04:00Prompt: The blind painter
I remembered how the s...Prompt: The blind painter<br /><br />I remembered how the sunlight used to look, streaming through the gauze curtains. It was a warm white-yellow, flickering as the curtains billowed in a spring breeze.<br /><br />I felt the breeze on my cheek and turned my unseeing eyes to face where the curtains would be. Were they the same white, filmy things of my memory? The curtains had been changed twice in the decade since I lost my sight; once to replace the (Molly said) tattered originals, and once after a violent summer storm had sent a branch crashing through the window and shredding the curtains. Had Molly replaced this second pair with a sturdier fabric? But the softness of the breeze suggested it was hindered only by the light touch in my memory.<br /><br />"Sir Gerald?" Molly called, her voice light and accompanying two pairs of footsteps. The second sounded tinier than even Molly's dainty feet. "I have the child."<br /><br />"Come here, little one," I said, reaching out my arms. <br />The tiny footsteps approached. A slight, warm hand touched my own.<br /><br />"Guide his hand to your face," Molly said.<br /><br />The small hand pulled mine, and I let it, finally resting my palm on a soft cheek. "Like this?" said a young voice, ambiguously sexless.<br /><br />"Yes," I answered for Molly, bringing my other hand in and feeling the contours of the child's face. I recognised this face, though could not recall which of my paintings had held an adult version. I racked my brain, spinning through noblemen draped in fripperies, aboard horses, lounging on stools; ladies prim on a chaise, standing at a window, cuddling a pup. But none matched. <br /><br />I could hear that Molly had stopped breathing. She would say nothing to pressure me, though, even though we all knew I was the last who remembered the late Queen and her court, the last who might place this foundling. The last, too, who knew just how well I had known the Queen. My heart sank as I realised I, too had failed. And yet...yet the high forehead, the sloping cheekbones: it was as familiar as my own face.<br /><br />My hands froze.<br /><br />I fought to move them again, finish their motion. "I'm sorry," I said, dropping my arms. "I don't know."<br />Annenoreply@blogger.com