Post by Kallistos Rolleston on Oct 16, 2018 14:56:36 GMT -8
There was never any warning to when creativity was going to strike him, and when it did Kall knew that he cold be lost for hours. Sure, he could ignore the ideas that were running through his head, but then he'd find it difficult to concentrate on anything else, not until he got whatever was plaguing him on paper, even if it was nothing more than the physical description of a person, their life history, or the plot for an entire story.
Today he had made himself comfortable in the memory garden; his tablet and Bluetooth speakers offering a good beat to the air, but not so loud that he was going to annoy anyone. Even though the weather was cool, he was lying on the grass, with his lower legs on the bench that his device and speakers sat on and he scribbled down notes into one of the stack of spiral bound notebooks that he had been given by his mothers when he had gone home for the summer. He grinned as he remembered opening the box of six notebooks; the women knew him so well.
He tapped the pen against his knee, in time to the music, as he read through what he had just written, nodding the plot line of a new story was slowly starting to come into place. He used the pen to scribble out a few lines and reworded it down the bottom with an arrow showing where it was supposed to go and then continued writing where he had finished off. It appeared that his latest story happened somewhere in the future on a whole different galaxy... this one might be interesting.
Today he had made himself comfortable in the memory garden; his tablet and Bluetooth speakers offering a good beat to the air, but not so loud that he was going to annoy anyone. Even though the weather was cool, he was lying on the grass, with his lower legs on the bench that his device and speakers sat on and he scribbled down notes into one of the stack of spiral bound notebooks that he had been given by his mothers when he had gone home for the summer. He grinned as he remembered opening the box of six notebooks; the women knew him so well.
He tapped the pen against his knee, in time to the music, as he read through what he had just written, nodding the plot line of a new story was slowly starting to come into place. He used the pen to scribble out a few lines and reworded it down the bottom with an arrow showing where it was supposed to go and then continued writing where he had finished off. It appeared that his latest story happened somewhere in the future on a whole different galaxy... this one might be interesting.