Starving Artist Ink.

I fell in love last night, with two very different women. They captivated me, light in their eyes and fire from their tongue…. They told me secrets, showed me hidden places. One danced, the other sat in a rocking chair. I haven't been visited by someone like this in quite some time.

They are my character friends…

e.darcy

You see, I write about these characters-and have no story to place them in. Sure–they tell me their story, and a book to give them a home would be beautiful, but in my hands-they will forever reside. Flooding my head with their stories, their quirks. Their likes and dislikes. The details-down to the smell of their hair.

Pen to paper; I'm struggling to keep up. I'm scribbling to get it all down-I can't write fast enough.

These girls speak to me… One youthful and quiet, who shows me who she is all about. The other old and wise, who speaks softly and lets me be a viewer looking in.

Once I've been flooded they slowly slip away into their little world-continuing on without me. Just as the nub of the pencil starts to die down to nothing… Hopefully we will meet again.

e.darcy

{excerpt from the journals-a bit of the character profiles}
long wavy hair, the colour of molasses…deep enchanting eyes swirling with the colour of honey comb. lips and finger tips stained with the red and purple of berries. dirt under fingernails. barefoot always. white cotton nightgown. soft porcelain skin. drinks sweet tea from a mason jar. a day dreamer. collecting sea shells and spools of coloured thread.

silver hair, warm hands, kind heart. she has birthed seven children and brought many more into the world with her hands. her face is wrinkled with wisdom. she is calm and intuitive. she rocks in a chair-hums, chants, exhales. she smells of lavender, peppermint, and almond oils. she wears a pendent (she showed it to me to draw) that represents the circle of life. she has delivered two still born babies-and carries their souls in her heart. every birth she attends-she cooks a large pot of soup… 

And now, the pages close on all of the journals, the books, the scraps of paper… As I keep a hectic journal (six…at one time) filling them with thoughts, ideas, stories, words…

e.darcy