Inspiration: Rythm

I have been writing stories for the better part of twelve years now! During that time my skills have grown and expanded as I took on greater and greater challenges. Over the years I have adapted to collect ideas in their raw forms with programs like my sketch pad and notes taking apps. I have special writing software on my computer like Scrivener that helps me organize my long pieces of fiction and my universe notes so I don’t lose a thread. I have learned to trust and lean into my ideas, to not be afraid to try new things, weaving new and interesting ideas into my stories. Yet, in all this time one tool has remained constant, my headphones. When it comes to inspiration there are few mediums that obliterate the reality around me like a decent pair of headphones and a banging soundtrack. When I put on my headphones I can go anywhere.

The beat pounds to the rhythm of my pulse.

Suzume has been here for hours. The breath of so many crammed so close together fills the space with humidity and heat, with life. The rhythm vibrates through her and sweat and heat and movement pour out. There is simplicity here lost in the music. She does not need to worry about being a good pupil. Her training, her brother’s expectations, they don’t matter here. The loss is less here, when she is lost in the flow. When she is surrounded by strangers and there is only rhythm and movement she can be free.

Skip. The synth rhythm moves forward.  

Samira has no idea what’s happening to her, how her life became so complicated. She had come to temple to pray. To seek guidance. Now she struggles just to escape. The voice in her head seems a shout and her body dances away from the spear thrust towards her head. The staff in her hand reacts with speed she does not possess, clapping a nearby priest in the knee. She pivots, her hands and the staff a blur, spinning another attack safely away. The priests are everywhere, and they are… afraid? More shouts and more bodies fill the room. She doesn’t want to hurt anyone. She doesn’t want to die. Her body moves, narrowly avoiding the thrusts of pikes and slashes of belt knives. With a crack like lightning, her staff knocks out two priests in front of her. There is only a window and a wall before her now. She is trapped. This cannot be happening. Will she die here? Like this? For no reason? Her body moves without warning, without hesitation she leaps through the window. As she falls Samira cannot believe that this is how her life will end. The water below hits her as hard as any punch, but she knows somehow, she is alive.

Skip. The piano weeps.

Again. No matter how many times it takes. Again. Until the world is set right once again. Bashan doesn’t get much sleep, how can he escape to the comfort of dreams when the world is a nightmare? It must be set right. Somehow. The mug in his hands is warm and comforting as the sun rises on another day. This was once a great city. Millions lived in its great towers and grand halls. Magic and science cracked open the secrets of the universe and the universe cracked back. Now only a few thousand dares to gather in the crumbled remains. Bashan watches as the city amid the ruins wakes. He can smell the fresh bread being set out for the morning rush. Blacksmiths and potters stoke their forges and kilns, the walls will buzz with activity as the work of daily life carries on as it must. Bashan looks to the great wall, protecting them from the sandy wastes outside. How much longer would it hold? When would this calm end? Today? Tomorrow? When will his long watch over these people end? His right arm burns with sudden pain and he sets his mug down inside. The darkness that hunts humanity will not strike today. He can tell it is far from these shattered ruins, but it was still nearby. Without another thought, Bashan puts on his long coat and grabs his bag of magical scrolls and his trusty hat. It was time to do his job and maybe save a few lives in the process. The calamity would not come today.

Skip. The violin is sweet and calm.

Music is how I write. It is behind everything I make. It transports me to locations I have never seen. Places I have never been to. With music I create worlds to set my stories in, and then I write those stories with music in mind. It is a synergy that I have always found kind of magical and mysterious. I don’t pick the music for my stories. Instead, my stories come from some part of me that is responding and creating with the rhythms I hear. It is one of the ways I connect to my stories. The snippets above are characters from some of the stories I wrote, one of which was almost ten years ago. All it takes for me to delve back into those worlds and those stories is a pair of headphones and some music. It’s a vital part of how I create. It is one of my inspirations.