I'm writing again!!

Inspiration is back!

I was totally desperate the other day, completely sad, utterly disgusted that I could not come up with two lines... I took the bus to my painting class and who should show up on my shuffle playlist in my iPod? Nightwish!! My favorite band of all time!
Dry spell cured! (And from now on, I'll write all the albums off my tax reports as inspirational material! LOL) And which song should show up but the one that had sparked the story for my novel The Lighthouse Keeper!

The song is called The Islander.
I'll let you (re)discover it as you read a brand-new, fresh-out-of-the-oven excerpt of my story. ^_^
Happy reading! :D

(And I'm going back to write some more! ^_^)

The Islander

(T. Holopainen, M. Hietala)

An old man by a seashore at the end of day

Gazes the horizon with sea winds in his face

Tempest-tossed island, seasons all the same

Anchorage unpainted and a ship without a name

Sea without a shore for the banished ones unheard

He lightens a beacon, light at the end of world

Showing the way, lighting hope in their hearts

The ones on their travels onward from afar

(Chorus)

This is for long-forgotten, light at the end of the world
Horizon crying the tears he left behind long ago

The albatross is flying making him daydream

The time before he became one of the world's unseen

Princess in the tower, children in the field

Life's given him all, an island of the universe

Now his love's a memory, a ghost in the fog

He sets his sails one last time, saying farewell to the world

Anchor to the water, seabed far below

Grass still in his feet and a smile beneath his brow

(Chorus)

So long ago (x 2)

This is for long-forgotten, light at the end of the world
Horizon crying the tears he left behind so long ago

----------------------------------------------------------

(Novel excerpt)

PROLOGUE

            The old man squinted, studied the horizon. The icy wind bit his skin under his long coat. He shivered and breathed some warmth into his hands, folding his hood tighter. Unable to fight the cold, the old man grabbed the pole by his side and pushed on it. His boat dragged on the freezing waters in silence. This eternal silence. He had never known anything else.

            A thick fog rose from the river as always. He squinted once more, peering through the darkness and the clouds until a bare shore appeared. Bare? He frowned.

            One more push on the pole brought him closer and any doubt he had vanished: the shore was indeed bare of all presence. This was unprecedented. Something was happening…

            The old man landed and with agility beyond his years jumped off of his little boat. With long paces, he surveyed the white sand beach. Nothing. No one. Not a soul in sight!

            Even the black waters were lacking their usual movements. Whatever was happening, worst was to be expected.

            The old man was walking towards his small boat when a voice arose.

            It was the powerful voice of a chief, a creature trained in leading others. For all the years he had worked for him, the old man could tell when his boss was angry solely by hearing his voice: the calmer the voice, the worst the storm. And right now, the voice almost sang; it was bad.

            The old man kneeled.

            “He has been found,” said the voice.

            “Master?”

            “What were you thinking, old man? What demon possessed you?”

            “I beg for forgiveness, Master. I-I know I deserve whatever punishment comes my way.”

            “Indeed. But you shall wait your turn. I have more pressing matters.”

            The voice turned quiet. Even though the old man expected such a conversation for quite a time now, he was uncertain what to do next. He waited until a shadow appeared on the beach in front of him before moving again. Standing up, he strode back to his boat, followed by the silhouette. The old man stood tall in his boat. However, even if his strong waterman exterior showed no emotion, fear had nested in his heart.

            Was there ever worse punishment than that of a man who did not know when his number would come up?

CHAPTER ONE

            I was told to keep a journal.

            Old Gregory said it would help fight loneliness and seclusion. I guess giving it a try is not any worse than anything else.

            My name is Jonas. And as far as I can remember, I’ve lived on this island. Old Gregory said he found me on an abandoned ship some twelve years ago. He’s practically raised me since we’re the only ones living here.

            Now don’t go asking where exactly is “here” because I don’t have a single idea. The only answer old Gregory has ever served me to the “where are we?” question is “at the end of the world”.

            Some days, I believe him…