"As little as you want to write when you're happy, that's how much you have to write when you're miserable. Your passions have to go somewhere and this is hte only place left.
Your suffering has to be good for something. It's not for me to say if hte words were worth the price."
~5 to 7
What an interesting evening this has turned out to be.
The quote above is from a movie which I've just finished watching (called 5 to 7, as I realise that isn't particularly clear), and I think it really speaks to me, and I think some of my best work has come from a place of darkness. A large part of this particular resurgence comes from that realisation. The other part comes from a book I began reading very recently: The Slow Regard of Silent Things, by Patrick Rothfuss. Though I've yet to finish it, I believe it to be a literary masterpiece, even though it is (as the author attests) a bit different.
I guess the short of it is that I've been exposed to some truly amazing literary pieces of late, and I feel it's time I started to do my part once again. As such, I'm dusting off the old book and am ready to give it another go. Looking back over some of my other pieces, I feel there's quite a lot of ground to make up, so you'll have to bear with me. I am but a man, and yet I can barely succeed even at that.x
Without further adieu, I give to you Thing 44! I should remind you that when I do one of these I have no idea what it is I'm writing about until I actually begin, so as of this moment I have yet to see what thing 44 is. I'm also not really sure where in the book I am anymore, so I'll probably just have to move through it systematically until I find one I don't recognize...
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Thing 44: The thoughts of the first man to eat an oyster
"Oh stop being such a coward!"
Jane's chastising hung over him like dark cloud as he stared down at the thing. It was a monstrosity, oozing with mucous and ooze and who knew what else. To Edward, raised as a proper english gentleman in the highest society, the experience was a highly traumatizing one.
It's downright unsanitary. I'm expected to eat this?
Brow thoroughly furrowed, he allowed his gaze to slide back to the disappointed scowl of his companion.
"Surely you can't be serious. Death seems far more tempting a fate than to be subjected to such horrors."
Jane sighed and placed her once-delicate hands on her hips. "We've been stranded here for the better part of a month, you ninny. Each day the fruit we manage to gather dwindles and you're already proven that you're less than useful with a net. These creatures, whatever they may be, are both plentiful and easy to obtain. If we have any intention of holding out until the navy finds us, they may well be our salvation. Besides," she said with a smirk, "they aren't half bad, all things considered. Certainly better than when you tried your hand at cooking."
The nobleman simply sat in stunned silence. He wanted to retort, of course, but between the beslimed resident of his palm, the verbal lashing Jane laid upon him, and what was most assuredly some severe case of sunstroke, his mind consistently failed to produce any string of words which could be considered even remotely coherently. Instead, he simply allowed his eyes to sink once again.
It was unthinkable. Unimaginable. Unprecendented. Unceremonious.
"It's unavoidable, Edward. Eat the blasted thing or starve. But consider this: if by some miracle the opportunity for rescue presents itself and you somehow manage to survive, you'll be forced to explain to everyone how you not only were too pusillanimous to consume shellfish, but were in fact beaten by the very woman you swore to protect in so little a thing. You'll be laughed right out of the manor, and I shall be at the fore, taking great pleasure in your misery."
As much as he hated to admit it, he was forced to concede the point. It was more than survival, now. It was a matter of honour.
He took a deep breath to steady himself, holding it as he pried open the shell with unsteady hands.
Oh dear lord in heaven. Give me strength.
Finishing his silent prayer, he brought the oyster to his lips...
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It should be noted at this time that I have no idea when people actually started eating oysters. Just assume that whatever time period you envision this taking place in is canon for the particular world in which the story takes place.
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