It's back for another year... Welcome to this year's #HistFicMay! I know a number of writers like to have these prompt in advance so that you can line up a few answers, so it seemed like a good time to share them. Of course, the aim of #HistFicMay is to celebrate both the fantastic network of historical fiction writers and their books, so even if you don't use the prompts, hopefully you can use the hashtag on your social media to discover fabulous authors and writings. And here they are: Introduce yourself and your writing Who inspired you to become a writer? Standalone or series? Do you always/ever write happy ever afters? One time period or dual (or more!) timeline? What is your favourite era to write about? What is your favourite era to read about? Let's talk about research... What has been your greatest research discovery? Which source do you always go back to? What's your strangest rabbit hole? Has research ever driven you mad? If you could time travel, when w...
Continuing from last week's post which explored Artwork as Inspiration (the starting point for Proof of the Old Faith) I'm sticking with Norse culture. Here is The Weave of the Norns, a poem I wrote a few years ago about these three frightening women.
Enjoy!
The Norns by Arthur Rackham
Beneath the threat of utter doom
he sought them at their fabled loom.
The king searched on until he found
them on the morrow’s battleground.
The tallest worked the wheel alone;
the next, a shuttle made of bone;
the shortest bore a silver sword
with which she severed each loose cord.
What pattern spun these women three,
dictating mankind’s victory!
“I come to beg you demonstrate
a gentle weaving of our fate.”
“Then know you this, oh man of peace,
we weave the thread and cannot cease.”
“Weave us an ending to this war
and grant us threads of peace once more.”
“What cost would such a wise man pay
for us to change our weave this way?”
And now he saw the bloody thread,
time’s fabric dripping crimson red.
As though she took him in her hand
he felt her pull aside one strand.
“You have forgone your chance to leave.
Your life is foretold in the weave.”
The sword cut clear, the thread hung down,
the mediator lost his crown.
For Fate demands a sacrifice
to cast aside her weighted dice.
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