Ten.
Floating down the river, floating floating. The trick wasn’t to tame the river. That would be stupid. The trick was to use the river. To befriend the river. To speak sweetly to the river and convince it that its in the best interest of everyone that you reach your destination. That’s what the old man taught him.
Speck Rohmsfortina had been under the tutelage of Henny Irgania, one of the enwisened elfkind of the Old World. Speck had never seen Irgania do anything of particularly elvish quality, and aside from the slight point to his ears and his slender build, there wasn’t anything elvish about the old man.
ANd he spoke in riddles. Did he ever speak in riddles. So much so that Speck wondered on more than one occasion if Irgania was retarded— not enwisened. Irgania, for his part, it must be noted, felt the same way about Speck.
“What kind of a name is Speck?” Irgania asked the boy, once during a particularly frustrating training session wherein Speck demonstrated that he was completely unable to wield a fencing rapier in anyway other than what would charitably be called awkward.
“It’s a name, that’s all,” said Speck. “What kind of a name is Irgania?”
“A surname, Speck,” Irgania said. “Irgainia is the name handed down along the enwisened for eons. It’s a title of respect and honor— things I’m certain I’ve lectured you about, but sadly appear to have failed to sink in,”
“Yessir,” Speck spit out automatically. A moment of silence followed, and then, after a guttural harrumph from Irgania, the lessons began again, as if the digression had never occurred.
Things did sink in with Speck, however. In fact, most things did. He was exceedingly clever and, often to his own surprise, was able to recall with nearly photographic memory every lecture Irgania had heavier subjected him to. With time and training, Speck’s physical form started to catch up to his mind, and after a long seven years under Irgainia’s tutelage, Speck was very nearly a picture of the enwisened elvenkind. Except, of course, for the sarcasm and sour wit. That came from his mother’s side. And the less said about that, the better.
About me
Ten Minutes! Go!
Here are the essential rules that are often formulated for the beginners or students, often a paraphrase of Natalie Goldberg’s “Rules for Free Writing.”
* Give yourself a time limit. Write for one or ten or twenty minutes, and then stop.
* Keep your hand moving until the time is up. Do not pause to stare into space or to read what you’ve written. Write quickly but not in a hurry.
* Pay no attention to grammar, spelling, punctuation, neatness, or style. Nobody else needs to read what you produce here. The correctness and quality of what you write do not matter; the act of writing does.
* If you get off the topic or run out of ideas, keep writing anyway. If necessary, write nonsense or whatever comes into your head, or simply scribble: anything to keep the hand moving.
* If you feel bored or uncomfortable as you’re writing, ask yourself what’s bothering you—and write about that. Sometimes your creative energy is like water in a kinked hose, and before thoughts can flow on the topic at hand, you have to straighten the hose by attending to whatever is preoccupying you.
* When the time is up, look over what you’ve written, and mark passages that contain ideas or phrases that might be worth keeping or elaborating on in a subsequent free-writing session.
Via Wikipedia
