Old Spontaneity and Taxing Mondays

Some days cost more than others, and, when finished, I just want to run out into the sun and capture its rejuvenating rays. It was a day steeped in memories, without occasion for fully fleshing them out. I often wish writing was my current vocation, though I've much practice remaining before such time.

Following work, I biked to Freddies, grabbed a bunch of veggies, and biked home to make a vegetable-medley curry. No one was home, so while I ate, I played a solitaire game of bananagrams. 

I could probably play that forever and it might never get old. (though I did make one mistake: qiut is not quit)

~Storybook Princess~

Once upon a time, I fell in love with a princess

Not for her tresses, or dresses or wealth

Not for her smiles, perfect and white

Nor for sweet silence, beneath perfect starlight

Nay, though I’d love these, and more I am sure

But this storybook princess I never quite saw

For she lived in a tale, a world of her own

Lonely and sad, beautiful but alone

Surrounded by suitors, greedy and insane

Desiring her beauty, wealth or her name

Yet I fell in love with the words that she said

The air that she breathed, the paths that she tread

Some strange sort of magic, made of love and divine

Carried her words from her world into mine

And my world into hers as I read her sweet tale

As she scorned every suitor, even princes did fail

Every night by candlelight I dreamed in her land

Adventures we’d have, across warm desert sands

Forests and seas, clasping our hands

Always hoping and praying this night may not end

I fall fast asleep book cradled in arms

Praying she slept, my words cradled in heart

Until one fateful day, dream we gained what we sought

To come close together and never need part

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I wrote this poem years ago, when I wrote an amusing personal essay on something literary or other. I remember thinking, why would I fall in love with a princess when I could fall in love with a librarian or an explorer (I'll probably marry Carmen Sandiego when I find her - I suspect that name is really just an alias for Irene Adler, though). I was going through my old poetry, and thought this one charming. It fits in nicely with the thematic elements of the book I'm reading.  (I'm no poet, so forgive its lack of artistic merit)

Right now, all of my reading is geared towards my next piece. I was considering, at first, writing a mythos, but I'm contemplating something a bit out of my comfort zone: a mystery. I used to love watching mystery shows with my mother, even when they scared me as a child: Perry Mason, Matlock, Diagnosis Murder (the scary one of the three). I love the Sherlockian method wherein, through intellect and careful study of relevant information, a solution is intuited, however unlikely. I considered, after reading this poem (which is why it's here, however embarassing), whether I might consider writing a piece like the hallowed hunt - a mystery set in a fantasy world.

I also considered writing a piece in chapter snippets, like the Count of Monte Cristo, and every day for NaNoWriMo just publishing that day's snippet here. I'm excited, though. Another entry, full of digressions. Maybe this justifies more sleep.