Welcome to Story Crafter world! It's an allegory of my journey of writing and filmmaking, and its's just so much more fun to write than "I just got another 5 ideas for stories today, but I really should finish the 15 or 20 already have planned". I hope you enjoy it too.
She walked through the library, with a hand tracing the spines of the books, searching. But
none of the books satisfied her. What was she really searching for?
Fantasy, of course. Fantasy was in her blood and most stories that were not fantasy just
felt… off. But adventures where the kind-of-good-guys won, and apart from a fancy world
and creatures, weren’t much of a substance, left her feeling disappointed.
A story that reaches into depths of the human soul, that changes the characters and the
readers. There must be some like that, but how to find them? And… why not make some of
my own?
She reached for a book about writing. When she pulled it out, a bookshelf beside her moved,
exposing a tunnel.
She came inside. The walls of the tunnel were completely made out of tree roots, with
glowing crystals embedded between.
She reached an arched door at the end of the tunnel. A wooden plaque said “Story Crafter”
and had an empty space underneath, as if for a name.
She knocked and waited. She knocked again.
She pressed the iron-wrought handle and peered inside.
The small round study was full of dust and cobwebs. Walls were covered with bookshelves,
a rounded staircase, supported by a tree trunk, led to a half-loft, and in the middle, under a
skylight was a desk. A big leather-bound notebook filled the centre, open, it’s pages empty.
A closed jar of ink and a quill lied beside, asking to be picked up.
She sat down and blew the dust off. She flipped the notebook to look at the cover.
The Works of Bogna Jordan
All right, I’ll better get to writing then. She opened the ink and picked up the quill. She
hovered over the empty page. What if I ruin it? She placed it down and wrote the first word.
A sigh of relief left her lungs.
Finally, she was doing what she was supposed to.
She came back everyday, adding more words and exploring the study. The plaque bore her
name now.
A Story Crafter. How fancy.
There was a staff with a crystal orb propped against the stair trunk and a small door with
“Mystic Forest” written atop.
She squeezed through.
I’ll better loose some weight. She thought, stretching on the other side.
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