Literature in Limbo

Imagine something for me:
Imagine a town on the banks of a river, nestled in the foothills of distant mountains. Picture boats in a small harbour, clinging to the jetties like fruit on a laden bough, and the dusty streets lined with houses.

Let us follow these dark streets to an inn. A faded sign hangs above the door, red paint flaking from its boards. The sign rattles in the cool night breeze. Inside, the inn is dimly lit by oil lamps. The floor is made of dark wood and is covered with rushes. On one side of the room is a bar, where young men sit and drink after a hard day’s work in the fields.

In the far corner of the room sits a jaded minstrel, plucking disconsolately at a harp. The clear, pure notes fill the air, but the drinkers take no notice of him. He sits wrapped in his music, immersed in the sound of his own creation. As he plays, he reaches up to brush a strand of dark hair from his face, and the music falters. But none takes notice, for the barman is in the cellar fetching barrels of ale, and the men at the bar have eyes for the barmaid alone.

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Tags:

book, draft, elucidate, featured, manuscript and novel