Slow start to the New Year

I thought I'd better post something soon with the start of the New Year. (Well, there goes that new resolution about blogging regularly out the window!)

I've been attempting to write. Not just words on paper, or processing characters in Microsoft Word, but to bring my own ideas and imagination to life in fiction. It has been a dream of mine for years to create a good story. Not something roughly plagarized from other authors I admire, but something that is truly my own. Don't get me wrong, I HAVE the ideas...I'm just not at all sure what to do with them. Finding the time to sit down and organize my whirling thoughts is a chore to be mastered right at the start. And finding MY voice. Telling the story that I need to tell that hopefully, someone else out there in the universe might just identify with and, dare I say it, actually LIKE?

I don't actually have anything put together that puts a thrill on the page yet. Another hundred years...maybe. ;-) In the meantime, here's something I've been messing about with. Three paragraphs that may, or may not, prove to be the start of something....who knows what?

The severed head of young Giovanni lay next to his half-clothed mutilated body upon the gold-gilt king-sized bed. The blood from the ravaged body had flowed freely from the clean open neck wound, soaking and staining the fine white linen sheets a deep crimson.

Señorita Medea had stood motionless in the estate bedroom, unable to turn away from the grisly spectacle of her young lover’s violent end. The Señorita felt her throat close and her stomach grow queasy, but it was not only from the awful sight of the corpse lying on her grand bed, or the thick coppery stench of blood assailing her nostrils. More than anything she was sickened by the fact her Italian Villa, her most precious sanctuary, had been violated. And what an utter act of cruelty and evil had invaded her home.

Medea’s knees felt weak and she surged forward a few steps deeper into the room, unable to stop until she had reached the foot of the bed. Although she had witnessed death many times, the grief and shock of her loss threatened to overwhelm her as she involuntarily gazed upon Giovanni’s now bluish, waxen features. He had once been so expressive, so beautiful. Sadness gripped her as she studied the stiff, headless corpse that had only that morning held and caressed her body with such vital, supple, strong limbs.

A sob wracked her body.

....to be continued. Maybe.