I suppose you’re reading this because you’re wondering why this blog is known as After Hours. The reason is simple, really. As with all writers, I have a muse. This is that piece of myself that forms and creates stories before they can ever be brought to you, or any other reader. This little guy has been active since I was a small child. For as long as I can remember, stories and characters have come to life in my mind’s eye.
My muse is always active on some level, but when do the stories truly start to come to life? After hours, of course. The most profound characters and ideas that have ever taken hold in my mind have done so in the late hours of night or the wee hours of the morning. Oh sure, I can write wonderful prose at eight a.m. I can create worlds of fiction at noon. I can even muster up compelling dialogue at three or four. However, it is in the evening, when the world is starting to go to sleep, that my creativity comes alive.
After hours is a magical time for me. It is the time when quiet falls over a busy household and my mind takes over. In the night, while you are likely slumbering, I am creating far away worlds and unseen dimensions. As an author, my favorite time is that peaceful time known to me as after hours.
I invite you to join me as I explore those bits and pieces of ideas that exist after hours … and other ramblings, of course.
Posted in After Hours and Other Ramblings, Uncategorized and tagged after, and, hours, late, muse, night, other, ramblings, writing by S. D. Galloway with no comments yet.
In the shadows of the trees, he stands. Watching. Waiting. The arrow is taught against his string. He feels the muscles in his arm and shoulder tensed and ready. All he must do is release. The waiting is truly the hardest part. Through the bushes and overgrowth, he can hear the animal moving. It draws closer, yet he does not waiver. He cannot afford the luxury of fear, for it would only mean the end for him.
The animal closes in, and now he can hear it breathing. In this instant, most would have run. He does not. The warrior inside of him would never allow him to run. He stands his ground, waiting for the wicked beast to emerge.
It does not disappoint. The animal lumbers toward him at great speed. He does not allow himself to feel anything as he progresses through the movements, for he cannot afford to. He takes aim, steadying his hand, and releases. Muscles, instantly merciful for the loss of the strain, help guide his hand back to his quiver from memory. He draws another arrow.
It is not necessary. The beast falls to its belly on the carpet of the forest floor in front of him. He walks to it and taps it with his boot. No movement. The beast is dead. He turns, and walks deeper into the forest.
It is sometimes said that the heart of a true warrior lies in what he does in the first moments of battle. Does he stay and fight to the death? Does he flee? It is in these moments, when faced with true danger, that the warrior is made.
This warrior was not made to flee. He was made to fight. He may live many years, or he may be killed fighting off a beast. Either way, he will not become a victim to his fear. The archer lives another day, deep in the heart of the forest.
Posted in After Hours and Other Ramblings and tagged After Hours, archer, beasts, blog, danger, fantasy, fight, forest, genre, heart, heroic, monsters, saga, story, warrior by S. D. Galloway with no comments yet.
One of my favorite authors once said that the written word is a form of telepathy, of transference of ideas through thoughts and mental images. Right now, you and I are having a meeting of the minds. I hope you enjoy what is to follow.
Posted in After Hours and Other Ramblings by S. D. Galloway with no comments yet.