The Threshold

Kasseld knelt down on the track carved into the side of the mountain, as ephemeral claws of ice cold wind grappled with him to hurl him from his perch to his doom below. His visor was down to protect his face from the sleet and small stones carried on the violent air. His body rocked from time to time as the storm changed the angles of it's blows against him in its ceaseless attempts to topple him. But he had an anchor stronger than the furies of the storm that held him firm on the slick rocks beneath his feet.

Drusilla.

The small woman was huddled close to his armoured chest, while his massive shield was on the other side of her, protecting her from the element's hatred of their presence. Even though he could not feel her through his armour nor could he look at her, he knew where she was and what she was doing. Some other sense was at work, guiding him in his duty to protect her. She had her duty, and he had his. His would soon be at an end, as she would be at the place of her need.

The brigands that assailed their camp were no match for his sword. The lion that took too close an interest in them learned a sharp lesson, and would bear a wound, possibly long enough to be a scar, for the rest of its life. Not even the river that threatened to sweep her away was a danger to him as he carried her across. One of the storm's first serious attempts to deal with them failed as the dagger like shards of ice shattered harmlessly on his shield, rather than tearing the flesh from their bones. All of these, and more he sheltered Drusilla from, and kept her safe.

But the terrors within her mind, he could not touch. She was one who was as her birthright dictated. Confident, strong of will, graceful, full of poise and beauty. She undertook her task initially with great courage and determination. But as they closed on the place, her will faltered like her steps and her courage wilted like the flowers under the summer sun. But she never stopped, she never turned back. But she got slower, and more afraid.

The storm howled its frustration at the inability to remove the intruders, reserving it's strength for another time. Kasseld needed no further prompting to move them closer to their destination. Together, they moved slowly, more due to Drusilla's reluctance than out of need for safety. Still, the winds made the way fraught with dangers, obscuring their vision as well as pelting them with debris.

Upon reaching a bend in the trail, the storm launched a fresh assault against them. The blinding flash of light was followed immediately by an earsplitting boom of thunder that was drowned out by the roar of anger from the storm. The fresh rain of ice cold water and sleet was joined by a deluge of earth and rock from above. The explosive cacophony was rounded out by a bone chilling keening. Kasseld was surprised to find that the creature voicing the hideous wail was none other than Drusilla, giving voice to her terror.

Step by creeping step, they rounded the corner as the storm tried once more to rid the track of the human intruders. After a wearying eternity, they made their way to a sheltered ledge, that was almost a cave. Kasseld sat Drusilla down, removing his helm. It was then, he saw the ledge hosted a malevolent, maw-like opening that housed a darkness that seemed to be almost alive. But his attention was drawn to spectacle 'outside' the ledge.

The storm unleashed its fury in a display unmatched by anything they had seen before. Multiple flashes of lightning illuminated small patches of the white air as the answering booms of thunder rolled over the land as the air moved with ever greater speeds that before. Kasseld thought that the storm was angry that it had failed, and started to take out that anger on the lands beneath its broad reach.

Satisfied that the storm could not reach them, Kasseld turned his attention to Drusilla. Her long, lustrous raven hair was dull, dirty and matted. The normally glowing ivory complexion was now ashen, sullen and drawn. Twin obsidian pits housed lifeless gray orbs where once bold azure drew one's attention. Her poised, graceful stature had been replaced by a bent shuddering huddle. He walked over to her, kneeling before her and placing a soft kiss on her forehead before standing to guard them both.

The kiss brought Drusilla back from the maelstrom of her terror enough to register her surrounds. She looked over at the mouth of the cave, her lifeless eyes seeing the pitch like darkness trying to tempt her to allow her to be enfolded in its velvet soft agony. She heard the low, deep moan wafting from the depths, reinforcing the hopelessness of trying to enter there.

Her hand was moving with glacial speed, drawn to the one place where her body was not cold as ice. When her fingers touched, a circuit of warmth was closed. Warmth of a spiritual essence blossomed within her. Her poise returned as she stood, her heart beat was stronger, and some of her colour returned. Her terror filled eyes looked back at her companion as she lifted a hand to him.

"Please, my friend, come with me. Stand at my side, and let me draw on your strength as I do what I must do, lest I fail."

Kasseld sheathed his sword, replaced his helm and took her hand in his. Drusilla led them both to the boundary where the darkness seemed tangible. Taking one last shuddering breath, she stepped into the darkness.

Reflections

Alyssa walked over to the full length mirror. She had grown to hate it with a passion as it showed her the undeniable truth for so many years. Wheat coloured hair that turned into a bird's nest with the greatest of ease. The colour of her eyes she only ever equated with mud. Even her mostly pale complexion was one that she never found a positive for.

Alyssa sighed, looking down at her nightie clad body. She was a good weight, which was the one thing she never had a complaint about. But where the weight was distributed she definitely had problems with. She had curves, more in some places than she needed, less in others. If they could only be moved around a little bit, it would be so much better. She ran her hands over the thick material of her nightwear, feeling her undesired contours with a sigh.

Her gaze returned to the Mirror of Awful Truths, and she gasped. Where her hands sat on her stomach, another larger hand sat over them. She stared with wide open eyes as the hands started to guide hers over her tummy, down to the outer boundaries of her hips. She tore her gaze from the reflection of her hands gently caressing her overly generous hips as she looked up to see [I]him[/I] right behind her.

He stood a full head taller than her and his deep, dark chocolate eyes met hers and pinned her gaze. His rich, sable mane seemed to flow back from his ruggedly shaped face. She managed to sneak her gaze from his, down the massive muscular column of his neck to the broad plateau of his shoulders. Their breadth suggested the size of his chest and the rest of his torso, knowing that he would outweigh her maybe threefold.

The passage of her hands to her thighs broke her gaze of him, and she watched in stunned amazement as he continued his assisted caressing of her body. Alyssa found her heart starting to race as she watched their hands dance over her body. She felt a heat building within her as the man tenderly enjoyed the simple exploration of her body. Further up her body their hands went. The slow traversal of the combined touches brought a life to Alyssa's body that she never felt before. He guided her hands back towards her hips before leading them to cup her buttocks. She felt her eyes close as the hands explored, then massaged the globes of flesh above her legs. She could feel the heat of her flesh through the fabric by the time her hands were guided back to her front.

Alyssa's breathing deepened into moans as her hands went higher than previously obtained under his gentle guidance. She felt a tightening in her lower body that matched the twin tightening of points further up. Her anticipation of his touch on her breasts was reaching fever pitch. She languidly opened her eyes to watch their hands skirt the boundaries of what she thought were her inadequate breasts. She gasped audibly when the hands moved onto her breasts. Her hands cupped them softly, making the fabric add to the tactile sensations she was experiencing. The manner in which he guided her hands made the press of the nightie's fabric almost teasing. He guided her hands further up her breasts, sliding her fingers either side of the pinnacles, letting the webbing between caress and taunt her nipples.

Her moans escaped her bitten bottom lip and Alyssa's eyes almost fluttered fully closed. She had never felt so desired as she had by this man's simple caressing of her. She shivered as her guided palms rolled over the hard, sensitive buds moving up to the opposing shoulders. Alyssa gazed back at him, eager to see what he thought of what was happening. His expression was calm, peaceful and what she thought was a touch pleased.

Soon their hands glided over the tops of her shoulders and continued their path down her arms. The long sleeves did nothing to stop the deep tingling touch from bypassing the fabric that separated the hands from the arms underneath. He ensured that her hands remained on her arms until her palms brushed. The entire time her arms came alive with the energy transferred by the touch. When the fingertips broke contact, she shuddered at the loss of what was being given.

Her hands were brought up to her mid biceps, his powerful arms wrapping her softly in warm embrace. She watched as he started to lower his head to one side of her head. Sensing what he planned for her, she flicked her head, clearing her neck for his approaching lips. Alyssa trembled, heating up and feeling herself tighten even more as she watched his lips close of her neck. Her eyes closed automatically as she felt the soft press of his warm flesh against her neck. The blazing heat cause by his touch flared through her body, giving her a release that shook her to the very core of her soul. She felt herself soar amongst the stars as he gave her one last parting gesture of his affection for her.

When her eyes opened again, she was left standing before the Mirror of Awful Truths, alone. But then, Alyssa saw a totally different person standing before her.

Real Life can be a PITA

And for those of you who don't know that little acronym, P.I.T.A. is Pain In The Ass.

That's what real life has been for me recently. Trying to get time together to get some writing done, various elements have gotten in the way and disrupted me. Being married, and a father of two young boys will always supply a stream of events that will impose upon me, and I need to be prepared for that.

Of course, it is an easy scapegoat for my own flaws as well. Until now, I have been a very instinctual writer. When I get an idea, I just write it. It forms well in my mind, and I follow the rules subconsciously while coming up with my fictional piece. In order to do this, I rely on the spontaneous flash of inspiration which seems to bring with it a host of preformed ideas, concepts and even images and scenes. Now, I am moving to being more professional. To that end, I am seeking out the ideas, then building them up into plots and story lines. This takes a little more discipline and effort on my part which I interpret as stifling my creativity.

I know that's a load of rubbish at an intellectual level, but it does little to abolish the feelings. So, I struggle with the 'new' approach to composing my work, and then something comes along in my life that I could have easily planned for, or could put off for a short period of time while I close off a section of my work. But I find myself complaining loudly about the interruption, which in turns robs me of the thoughts I had at the time I was interrupted, storming off to deal with it and not returning to the writing task for anywhere up to days later.

So, another task for me in making myself a better, more productive writer, is to not allow the real world to intrude so much by planning my writing sessions, and other needs. I just hope I can do it.

Well, we'll see soon enough.

You may have noticed, Dear reader

On occasion, as I did with the post called "Shoes", I will put a sample of my writing up here for people to read, and if they so desire, comment on. All work is mine entirely, written for the love of writing, unless stated otherwise in the post. I don't honestly expect the pieces to be worthy of publication, indeed in a majority of cases, because they have been posted here, or elsewhere, publishers wont touch them. But by put some of them here, when asked, I can hop onto this blog, and pull them up and show them to the interested parties so they have at least some idea of what I can do.

Most of the samples will be flash fiction, which going by most definitions I have been able to find means up to 1,000 words. There is no schedule for the appearance of these samples, nor themes, genres or any other definitions that come to mind. The only thing will be is that I feel that the piece is worthy of sharing with those of you who read this rambling blog of mine.

Now, I shall go and see if I can actually find some inspiration out in the world somewhere and manage to put words down on paper about it.

Another Bane of Mine

Well, for a long time now, and I wont say how long, I have suffered from Clinical Depression. During this time, I have been on medication to help me control it, as well as undertaking therapy to manage it better and be less dependent on the medication. When it flares up, it can be quite crippling in a number of ways, including my writing.

Over the last few weeks, I haven't really been able to put pen to paper, so to speak. Not even the stuff I do for fun and relaxation. It was all a monumental ordeal too difficult to deal with. Nothing I tried, or could think of was able to allow me to even get out a sentence that would survive a complete rewrite. I will admit, that it has been the deepest, darkest hole I have ever been in, and it scared me a great deal.

Strangely enough, it was a writing related topic that served as a trigger that eventually caused the turn around. I'm not exactly sure how, but seeing an image a friend of mine wanted to write a story based off got me thinking. Somewhere in that thinking, something that I had locked up inside of me finally broke free and escaped. One massive emotional breakdown later, followed by a day spent mostly asleep from exhaustion and I found myself to be a someone resembling a human being again.

I managed to get a few pieces of writing done on a website I take part on, as well as laying some ground work for some short stories in a world where I am hopefully, one day, going to have a manuscript set in. These stories will help me further define the world, and some of the supportive characters, as well as refine my skills a little more for the main manuscript.

Not only to I have to battle not being able to look at things in the right manner to see inspiration that is hiding there waiting to be found, I also have the ever present Depression hiding in the shadows, lurking, waiting for the moment to spring forth and wreak havoc on me. On top of that, I have to ignore it so I don't get paranoid about it, and loose time and energy to it when it's not doing anything to me at all.

Now that I think about it, there just might be an idea in there after all...

Shoes

I sat, relaxed in the firm, supportive embrace of the leather chair. My eyes remained closed as I waited for your arrival. My imagination filled in the time with all manner of images and sensations of what could possibly happen. A barely noticeable wicked grin curved my lips. It was the only hint of what I was thinking.

The loud rapport of heels confidently making contact with the hard wood floors echoed from down the hall. My grin grew into a smile, my mind's eye working hard to match a visual to go with the sounds. The rhythm was steady; the click of the heel, the softer tap of the toes and the light shift of the other foot being lifted in its stride.

The sensual sway of your hips came to mind, clad in a free flowing, soft fabric that moved with a teasing grace. Sheer stockings, of course, sheathed the well toned and defined legs artfully shaped by the footwear that announced your presence.

Your steps had grown louder before you paused. I imagined you in the doorway, teasing me. Tempting me to gaze upon you. Your stance was sultry, a personification of desire.

I waited. I wanted to see you in motion once more, rather than in a mere pose, no matter how entrancing that pose might be. The way you move fires my blood in ways that no other woman does.

The loud cracks of your heels in motion signals me to open my eyes. Your feet are enclosed in shoes that remind me of obsidian; darkest black that shines in the lowest of light. Your feet are also angled by the thin spike that keeps your heels three inches above your toes. As imagined, black stockings cling to your legs, helping to focus my eyes on their delightful lines.

A tantalizing band of bare thigh exists between the stocking's tops, and the lower edge of your corset. The sway of your hips surpasses my imagination's feeble attempts to match the reality I am greeted with. I find my breathing deepening at the wondrous display.

The corset, soft earthy tones hugging your torso, clearly aiding showing off a desirable array of curves. The corset appears to be more supportive than molding of the flesh in encircles. How it could improve on your body, one that is so magnificent to start with?

The confident stride continues to bring you closer to me. I find your eyes on mine, locking my gaze, denying me the chance to look elsewhere. By the shape of your eyes, I know you're smiling too. This adds to my growing heat. Adds fuel to my desire. Elevates your beauty even higher.

The walk that I saw was natural, easy flowing and naturally graceful. For a moment I wonder if others have been fortunate enough to see that stride. But it doesn't matter, because you walk that way for me to see. A sight that brings much joy to me.

One of the stocking clad legs brushes the outside of one of my thighs, soon followed by the other brushing the outside of the other thigh. Your weight slowly glides into my lap. Your arms come to rest on my shoulders as mine circle your waist.

No words can ever hope to convey the messages that our looks give each other. Your warmth in my lap and your hands combing my hair both soothe and excite me in equal measure.

We both agreed that it was the perfect start to a perfect evening.

Why the Blog got its name

When I decided to create this journal of my venture into a more professional level of writing, I wanted to give it a name that reflected something about my writing in general. When I stopped and thought about it, I thought the perfect point would be my inability to find that initial spark of inspiration.

Of course, a Muse was one of a group of Greek Goddesses who helped inspired artists to produce great works.It has since been used to signify a person, normally a woman, who helps an artist, again normally a male, to achieve more than if he laboured alone. To some writers, the Muse is that indefinable something that allows them to put the words down on paper. Since I have a problem with that initial inspiration, I called myself 'Museless', and the content of this blog are my musings, or thoughts about such a state.

That, for me, is my greatest weakness. To see, hear or experience something and go "Hey, that would make a great story!" Of course, it's easily done if I want to violate copyright, intellectual property or a host of other similar related laws and concepts. But to find that germ of an idea that I can then build on? I have better luck finding hen's teeth.

When I have an idea, or when I have been collaborating with someone else and they have put forth the premise or initial idea, then I find it rather easy to build on it. More often than not, it is guiding it as it grows by itself into something truly wonderful to read. Sometimes the ideas come thick and fast almost flooding my mind. Other times, they come in rushes that allow me time to collect the thoughts, put them down and organise them properly. The ones I like the most are where one of the main characters actually talks to me, telling me their point of view concerning a scene, or I actually see the scene in my mind's eye.

So I have often pondered how to get around this. Possibly reading news articles, web posts on various topics. Maybe trying a Google random search perhaps? I have wondered if finding images may serve as a prompt. I guess instead of wondering, it would be better to try them and see what happens.

Another thought that literally crossed my mind is that if I had an idea of a genre in mind first, such as SciFi, Fantasy, Suspense, etc, then I went looking for my inspiration, that I might have greater success that trying to look blindly as I have in the past. I think I will definitely give that one a god and see where it leads me.

Welcome

Greetings Visitor.

This blog is a place were I will be posting about my journey in developing my craft as a writer. It will ramble all over the place, as I will have posts of samples of my work, tales of my various projects, thoughts about what is happening and anything else related to writing.

This is my first serious attempt at doing a blog, so it will be a little rough to start with, but as time passes, it will change and hopefully get better and more refined. Please fell free to add any thoughts, comments opinions, etc, you may have about any posts made here, as long as they are reasonable. I don't mind criticism, as long as it is balanced, well thought out and helpful.