In the dead of winter of 2006, I finally finished the last chapter, of the first book, of my Arthurian saga. It had been a long journey, with the last months especially challenging ... my struggle ... where to end the first book. Finally, everything came together; I felt Merlin hovering over my shoulder, as I frantically typed away that evening. He too appeared to be content in my decision. I was done, finished, the end. Crawling into bed, I instantly fell into a deep sweet-dream slumber, completely void of antiquity.
At three in the morning, I felt a gentle bump on the bed. I thought little of the intrusion, as I am owned by Labradors Retrievers, who constantly climb on and off the bed, especially in the wee hours of the morning. Although my dogs do not have fleas (thus, the reason they are allowed on the bed) the movement was rather like a dog scratching; a steady thump, thump, thumping at my bedside. Inwardly growling, I opened one eye to see which hound’s name was going to get the cease-and-desist command, and a pillow flung in their direction.
Much to my surprise, and dismay, next to me gently bouncing on the bed, sat a young knight. Even in the soft glow streaming from the bathroom’s nightlight, I could see that he was dressed in battle garb. The chains of his mail rustled against the outer leather breastplate, as he absentmindedly tapped the tip of his sword on the carpet. Sighing, he turned his head and wearily smiled.
Growling, aloud this time, I grabbed the pillow, shoved it over my head, desperately trying to go back to sleep.
"You have only heard one-side of the tale." His voice was deep, crisp, with a slight Scottish accent.
"Go away, I am done," I protested, "Merlin told me all there is to know." Pulling the covers over the pillow it was soon becoming difficult to breathe. Images of the local obits danced in my head ... Death at night by knight!
"Merlin revealed his secrets, now it is time you listen to mine," his words flowed firm, calm, but with equal protest and passion.
Curiosity overruled frustration, and so began my relationship with a young Sir Lot of the Orkney Isles ... and yet another year worth of heavy rewrites to weave his tale into Merlin’s.
Dee-Marie
At three in the morning, I felt a gentle bump on the bed. I thought little of the intrusion, as I am owned by Labradors Retrievers, who constantly climb on and off the bed, especially in the wee hours of the morning. Although my dogs do not have fleas (thus, the reason they are allowed on the bed) the movement was rather like a dog scratching; a steady thump, thump, thumping at my bedside. Inwardly growling, I opened one eye to see which hound’s name was going to get the cease-and-desist command, and a pillow flung in their direction.
Much to my surprise, and dismay, next to me gently bouncing on the bed, sat a young knight. Even in the soft glow streaming from the bathroom’s nightlight, I could see that he was dressed in battle garb. The chains of his mail rustled against the outer leather breastplate, as he absentmindedly tapped the tip of his sword on the carpet. Sighing, he turned his head and wearily smiled.
Growling, aloud this time, I grabbed the pillow, shoved it over my head, desperately trying to go back to sleep.
"You have only heard one-side of the tale." His voice was deep, crisp, with a slight Scottish accent.
"Go away, I am done," I protested, "Merlin told me all there is to know." Pulling the covers over the pillow it was soon becoming difficult to breathe. Images of the local obits danced in my head ... Death at night by knight!
"Merlin revealed his secrets, now it is time you listen to mine," his words flowed firm, calm, but with equal protest and passion.
Curiosity overruled frustration, and so began my relationship with a young Sir Lot of the Orkney Isles ... and yet another year worth of heavy rewrites to weave his tale into Merlin’s.
Dee-Marie
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