The Winter Moon (revised beginning)

After last week's meeting, I gave some serious thinking to making a total overhaul of the beginning of my book. I've known for a while that my old beginning was bland and cold, and after last week's comments, I decided that it was time to scrap it and start the beginning over again. What was the first two paragraphs became over 4 pages of long-hand. I hope you guys like this new beginning as much as I do.

It had happened again last night. He had been studying a new text, and thought it might hold the cure. The only thing it held though was a fresh round of anger, flames, and grief.

He sat with slumped shoulders in front of the keyboard, his hands gracefully grazing the ivory and ebony keys. The music was the only sound that broke through the silence around him.

The tables had recently held many scattered, yet organized open books of various shapes and sizes. Now they laid overturned and their books thrown across the room in disarray. Many of them were charred along the edges.

The man was not paying attention to the melody he was playing. His ebony hair hung in his dark blue eyes, and behind those eyes lay a dissonance of emotion. He suddenly slammed his hands against the keys and stood, taking deep, dramatic sighs. He stared at the wreckage around him; and it was all his fault. It reaffirmed the choice he made years ago to isolate himself in this cave, away from the rest of the world where the only person he could hurt was himself.

The man was conflicted with frustration, hopelessness, and loneliness. Why couldn't he find a cure? Why, even though he always tried and tried, couldn't he figure out how to control it? What was the point, anyway? So he could go to people who already hated him and would never accept him?

He knew the reason. It was the pointless hope that, maybe, just maybe, if he could control his problem, perhaps someone, just one even, could bring him out of the dark loneliness that consumed him. He had been alone for so long. All he wanted was someone that would love him. A friend that would care for him when the rest of the world despised him. But no one could care for him in his current condition.

His breathing had fallen to calm waves compared to the tsunami it had been before. He looked around and began to reassemble the room, setting the tables and chairs back on their feet and fixing the books back to their places on the tables and shelves. He disposed of the burned parchment that littered the floor as well.

Following this, he walked out of the grotto and through the familiar tunnels leading to the outside. He stepped out into the night air, which granted a thrill of cold air into his lungs. The chill attacked his face, invigorating his senses. He looked up into the starry sky, which was so clear and magnificent that it allowed one to see every star and galaxy.

The moon was best of all. It was large and clear, the color of milk. It would soon be full. He had read of how the moon offered its own kind of celestial magic, and that it was the most potent on the solstice.

As his eyes scanned the sky, his eyes landed on the brightest star in the sky. The man had studied astrology and could name every star in the heavens. As a child, his mother would tell him that a wish made on the brightest star would result in miracles. Although the man new better, that miracles only existed for some, he wished anyways. He wished for love. He wished to the thing all human beings wish for, deep down inside. For he truly was, deep down inside, just as human as you or I.

A world away I sat beside my window, looking up into the same sky. I sat on the end of my bed, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders and my guitar sitting in my lap. I was endeavoring to write a new song, but there was no inspiration inside of me. I tucked a lock of red curly hair behind my ear and began to play around with a few chords.

I was stuck. I found no voice inside of me that gave me words to write. I found nothing around me to write about. I found myself not only unable to find words, but unable to get out of the slump of life I was in.

A knock at my door preceded my mother's entrance to my room. Her short brown hair was wet from a fresh shower, and lay untidily against her head. "Hey hon, I was just checking in to say good night." she said pleasantly.

"Alright, I'll get to bed soon." I told her.

"Are you working on a new song?" she asked.

"Trying to," I replied with a grimace.

"Can I help?"

"I don't think so. I can't find a muse tonight." I explained.

"Why not?"

"I just can't find anything... interesting in my life to write about!" I exclaimed.

She stood quietly for a moment, and then said, "Scoot over," I did so to make room for her on the bed beside me. Her hazel eyes matched to my own blue-grey ones. "What do you think is not interesting about your life?"

I pondered for a moment, and then said, "Everything! I get up, I got to school, I come home, do homework, help with dinner, make sure the twins get their work done, go to bed, and then start the whole, boring cycle over again! Its a plain, repetitive lifestyle that is nothing to stand out in the world!" I paused for a moment, noting the quiet interest expressed on her face. "I think its honestly so dull that that I'm ready to go bonkers!" My mother's face broke out into a smile followed by laughter.

"Mom, I don't think its very funny." I put in, though I found it hard not to laugh along with my mom.

"Okay, okay, I see your point," she said. She slid closer to me and put her arm around my shoulders, and held my hand with her free one. "Marina, sweetheart, I think you're taking so much for granted," she began.

"But that's just it, Mom, I'm not. I love my life. I love my family, my friends, I get along with people, and school's not a problem, it's just the whole, boring cycle of it. I want something to stand out, for something to mean something. I don't want to get trapped in the 'same-old, same-old'." I explained.

My mom thought silently for moment. "I see what you mean, Marina. But sweetheart, it's the everyday things that matter most. It's the love you share with others that means something. Someday you'll see that. I know you will."

I was skeptical at her statement, but I nodded my consent.

"In the meanwhile," she continued, "You'd better be getting to bed. School and the usual tomorrow, right?" She winked.

I nodded with a roll of my eyes and proceeded to place my guitar back into its place in the corner. I kissed my mother goodnight and slipped underneath the covers.

My thoughts ran over the conversation with my mother. Love? I was at a loss where romance was involved, but maybe the love she meant was something more than romance. The love I gave to my family and friends was easy, natural even. But the kind of love that lasted forever? That was hard. I had seen people try to imitate that kind of love with romance. All it was though was infatuation. No, the kind of love I believed to be true love was the give and take, the sacrifice and respect I saw everyday between my parents. Now that was true love. A love that was based on the hardships, triumphs, and joys of life lived together. When I saw my parents look deeply into each other's eyes, I knew that love grew with age, and that life was worth living if you had someone by your side.

Maybe that was the answer to my boring life that seemed meaningless. But I felt that love was far away for me. At 17, who really knows love? Especially when you haven't truly lived it. So I settled on the love I could offer my friends and family.

As I laid in bed, pondering, I continued to look up at the night sky. My eyes landed on a particularly bright star and inwardly recited, "Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, I wish the wish I wish tonight." Breaking out of the poetic rhythm, I thought of my wish. I wished for that kind of love I saw between my parents. The kind of love that made life meaningful. I wished for that kind of love to be mine. Someday, I hoped.

I just didn't know how soon that someday would be.