Image created using a photo by David Mark from Pixabay
This post is in response to @snook's challenge Create the Scene | It's Not a Contest! Where she challenges other people on hive to come up with a descriptive scene and post both the first draft and final draft as a creative exercise.
Snook makes a great point here about the demons of self-doubt when it comes to writing ⬆️
I have felt that 'monkey of self-doubt' on my back many times during my writing career, and it is a hard voice to ignore. When that proverbial devil on your shoulder tells you that what you've written is not good enough...
👺"You might as well give up."
👺"Never darken the page with this drivel."
👺"What makes you think anyone is interested in any story you have to tell."
That devil is a bastard! Excuse the expletive... but it is true 😂
And the best thing you can do is ignore that treacherous voice as most of the process of creative writing comes in the drafting. It is true that the first draft often births the raw emotion and the strongest imagery, but the story/scene is crafted in the draft.
I have completed similar creative exercises in the past - saving both my first and final draft of a story and then rewriting the whole thing considering both the start and finish of the process.
This has proved invaluable in improving parts of my WIP (Work in Progress) and also breaking periods of writer's block.
Often there are certain elements of the first draft that have more immediacy than a redrafted scene, and when you go back and look at that first draft, considering that initial creative spark can improve the whole.
Anyway, enough of my rambling 😉 time to create the scene/s.
Image created using a photo by illusion-X from Pixabay
1st Draft
The breeze tickled the downland grass as Aerthinth pulled the hood from his hawk companion's head, leaping to the ground in one fluid movement.
Great golden orbs flashed in the late moonlight as ghostly trails of mist kissed dew-soaked daisies and crocuses. In the gloaming of the witching hour summer exhaled pollen-laden whispers, singing a lullaby to the departed spring.
"How do you see the world through those peregrine eyes, my lost friend?"
Aerthinth stared deep into the flashing eyes as the Wosthawk bobbed its head, hoping from one giant leg to the other, rocking the cart on its wheels with each movement.
Giant wings beat a sudden hurricane whipping Aerthinth’s silver hair in his eyes. He leapt to the back of the great raptor, deftly flicking his hair into a band as he landed atop the feathered behemoth.
Across the downland rabbits scurried for burrows, fox slunk beneath scrub and the great bison quivered in the face of the breeze as a keening screech burst forth from the Wosthawk’s beak.
Feathers fluttering in the sudden maelstrom of its wings, Aerthinth clung tight to the saddle’s leather as the ground fell away in a spinning kaleidoscope of emerald grass and the purple welts of heather.
Final Draft
The breeze tickled the downland grass as Aerthinth pulled the hood from his Wosthawk companion’s head, leaping to the ground in one fluid movement.
Golden eyes flashed in the moonlight as ghostly trails of mist kissed daisies and crocuses in the gloaming of the witching hour.
Summer exhaled pollen-laden whispers, singing a lullaby to the departed spring.
“What do you see through those peregrine eyes, my lost friend?”
Aerthinth stared deep into the flashing eyes as the Wosthawk bobbed its head, hopping from one giant leg to the other, rocking the cart on its wheels with each movement. Where was his friend in those eyes?
He thought he caught a brief glimpse of her smile in those golden depths before it was gone and the Wosthawk twitched its head, mad hawk eyes full of the lust of blood and tearing flesh.
Giant wings beat a sudden hurricane, whipping Aerthinth’s silver hair in his eyes. He leapt to the back of the great raptor, deftly flicking his hair into a band as he landed atop the feathered behemoth.
Rabbits scurried for burrows, fox slunk beneath scrub and the great bison quivered as a keening screech burst forth from the Wosthawk’s beak.
Aerthinth clung tight to the saddle’s leather as the ground fell away in a spinning kaleidoscope of emerald grass and the purple welts of heather.
In the final draft, I changed some of the word choices, corrected punctuation, re-wrote a few sentences that felt clunky and added a few extra paragraphs to further elaborate on some back story about the origin of this mysterious elven sky rider's raptor mount.
Thanks for reading 🌿
This scene is part of a longer short story about an elven sky warrior who battles wyvern on the back of a giant Wosthawk. I am considering publishing the final draft of this short story on hive when it is finished.
All images used in this post are creative commons licence from pixabay, source links: 1 2 & 3
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