This week’s one line Sunday was:
He had the kind of face that could turn a Friday into a Monday
So I decided to write a short piece inspired from a scene in the Marriage of Fiagaro which I was listening to just before I started writing this. It’s very rough, all tell and very little show so it reads as more of an plot outline than it does a fiction short. But, remember these exercises are not initially to look at plot structure, pacing, character development, dialogue tags or the judicious use of adverbs the aim is to get your creative juices flowing. The technical aspect of writing we can look at later on, but for now I want to focus on getting writers writing, exploring ideas, how we can use everyday mundane experiences to be inspired and get the muse amused.
So here is my very rough, first draft creative idea:
He had the kind of face that could turn a Friday into a Monday for me and he was but three steps from my bedroom door. His Royal chambers overlooked the lush green serenity of the gardens in the square at the centre of the castle which lay in the depths of the palace away from the noise of the market square and the sight of the beggars outside the castle walls. As the Queen’s sister, my Husband had risen in status through his marriage to me, and we had our quarters next to the king’s outer study.
Through me, my husband Richard of Bannstine, had become a favourite of the young Kings tight knit group of friends who hunted, partied and engaged in the diplomatic visits that took them so often away from the Castle’s keen eye. Keen eye’s that noticed that after four long years of marriage the Queen’s stomach still lay flat as a washboard as she cast green eyes over other women’s stomachs that swelled as they nurtured new life. Rumours, now more than ever abound that it was not the King’s absence that kept his marital bed empty and his heir’s cradle unrocked, but a lack of willingness on the King’s part to turn his eye to bedding the Queen.
Try as they might the gossips could not place the blame at the feet of the queen, for she had bedded men before quite happily and produced two sons, a not unusual occurrence for an aristocratic woman whose every need and demand must be met. And while her princes would be wedded well and given plenty of rich land to manage, they were not of the Royal marriage. They would never be the preferable heirs to the throne.
I sat now in our study chamber, snuggled in a chair by the roaring fire a book in my hand that I occasionally looked at for a sentence or two before my head nodded again as I fought off sleep. Not long before the clock tower had chimed three and I sighed deeply, once more I stayed up late waiting for my husband to come home sweaty and smelling of ecstasy from the King’s private chamber where the locked themselves in for long hours with no company but each other. No wonders the rumour makers gossiped so incessantly.