Tag Archives: Kithara

Sorry Kithara

I’m having doubts that Kithara was a good idea, I’ve had doubts from the moment I clicked publish, actually.  I know what I want to write, but it feels familiar to me, like maybe it’s a rip off of something, there’s that nagging feeling.  I know no book is truly original work, it’s really hard to be 100% original, I understand that, I strive to be original and I feel like a cheat at times.

With the story Kithara, I also felt as though it started rather slap dashed and in a way it did, I wrote it and immediately published it on here, no edits.  A big mistake?

I think it was a big mistake, I was very eager in getting a short story started on here and I didn’t want to put any of my previous stories up because I wanted to save them for approaching actual publishers.  I’ve always been told I rush in where angels fear to tread, I am always rushing what I do and too eager to please everybody all of the time.  So, I got into a habit after reading “Stephen King On Writing” to write my stories and put them away for a few months then read them and edit them accordingly, but I guess I was too excited by this blog that I forgot my new rule.

I want to abandon this story and never do more to it personally; but I do too, because this has been idea that’s been floating around for nine years as an actual novel, I thought it would be a good idea to put it up as short story chunks online.  Although I want to stop this story right now and ignore it ever happened, maybe even delete it from site and start re-arranging it as a novel again. I feel I am ripping off my readers, though Kithara hasn’t had any comments or likes, so maybe it’s not something to worry about?

But worry I do, it’s my nature, that’s why I never get anything done.  I suppose, though everybody who knows me say they never see me resting, they never see me do absolutely nothing.  I am always writing or have my nose stuck in a book, gardening or cooking/baking, playing with my son, tidying up, and doing stuff for charity.

I feel like a secret procrastinator, I actually do very little, it’s just other people see me doing something all the time that they don’t see me for what I really am… lazy.

When I write it’s always as short as a poem each time, then I move onto another story or another poem or song, then I research a little, then I get up and tidy, then I bake a cake to avoid working more, then I go back to typing really slowly my stories, reading, re-reading, editing as I  go along, deleting a lot, and as I mentioned in other posts, burning a lot.

I think the only thing I do a lot is, post online, I do a lot of non-fiction posting of a lot of things in various places.  I’ve been told I should write non-fiction as I seem to do a lot of posts based on it, but I can’t do that, I did an Open University course in 2010 and I got very low scores because I can’t reference for the life of me, I know all these great things but forget where I learned it from and I forget to make the important notes, I make lots and lots of notes, but nothing important; so I gave up that course for a while, mainly because my son was starting to crawl and cause chaos.

The course was “Introducing the social sciences”, these days I am thinking about switching to literature or something, that should be easy because I am still signed up with the OU but as a non-participating student and it is an open degree, means I can shift around a bit.

I doubt Kithara will continue for several months actually.  I think any story posted up here will be a touch and go for finishing.  So please don’t get your hopes up with me, the worst thing anyone can do for me is to have any expectations of me, I always let people down.  Just sit back and hope you’ll actually read an ending some day.

Sorry xx

 

 

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Kithara (part 1)

Kithara knew this barren land like the back of her hand, it might seem like one endless desert to anybody else, but she knew every little thing about it; where to hunt for lizards, where to find grubs and underground water, and more importantly, how to tame the wildlife surrounding it.

When you looked closely at Kithara’s land, you’d notice it wasn’t as barren as you’d first think.  It was brimming with life and that life fed Kithara’s body, mind and soul.

Kithara was barely fourteen and running through the desert, hopping from rock to rock hunting with her cheetahs, she was very handy with a knife too.  She was the talk of her camp.

You see, Kithara didn’t have a village; she came from a nomadic tribe deep within the wastelands of Banouro, they’d travel the entire desert and occasionally would settle just outside big cities and citadels, the stretch they’d travel regularly was at least a thousand miles in diameter, yet nothing was new to Kithara in any place they’d stay.

One particularly afternoon after Kithara had gone fishing in the oasis she noticed a group of men on horseback all clothed in black and dark purple in thick layers from head to toe, some wore head wraps and others wore fur square hats and just one man chose to wear nothing atop his head, he was an unusual man, one of red hair, quite rare, especially in this country, he must have been a foreigner.  The other gentlemen he was with were semi-local, settlers from the edge of Banouro on the North to North West side.

She’d noticed that the strange men were lining up her tribes people, picking at them and pointing at them and rearranging them quite aggressively.

Then amongst the crowd, she saw her father, a big lump of a man, with a bald head, and large mouth and nose.  He must have been preparing to butcher some meat before the arrivals because he was wearing his leather sleeveless top and it was too clean for him to have been working on something.  Then he saw her mother being taken away with some other women and they were made to stand in a circle around three men and a very old woman dressed in purple and jewels that were looking at them.

Kithara didn’t know who these people were, but she could guess.  She had heard years before of people just like her tribe, people taken away from the barren lands and made to work, whole families forced apart, never to be seen again, or, until at least, they’d leave the workplace.

Suddenly, there was a commotion over by the female circle, Kithara had noticed her mother screaming, shouting, ranting and raving at the old lady.

The old lady looked at her mother in disgust, then did some motion with her hands and her mother was immediately pulled out of the circle and lined up next to other old people from her tribe, the old people were chained together to a carriage of horses, yet no one seemed to have tied her mother in the same way, instead, the red man was called over to seemingly talk to Kithara’s mother.

Kithara’s mother looked up at him doe eyed and silent, then forthwith he took his sword out of his left sheath and sliced her throat open right before her eyes, her mother fell immediately bleeding to death staining the red man’s felt shoes and soaking them through, replenishing the already red dye.

Find out another time what Kithara will do…

© Tina Cousins 2013

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