However, I have not at all been getting my writing juices flowing nearly as much as I should be. To rectify this, I am going to try and write a very, very short piece of, well, anything really, that is inspired by this awesome Random Word Generator I found tonight. I will
spin the wheel click the button of destiny and see where it goes. I don't want to make promises, but I am shooting for maybe two or three times a week?
This will hopefully get the good writing joojoo out and get the creativity imps running on their tiny wheels in my brain parts. Excellence, all around, if you ask me!
So, we begin with: CURATOR.
Violet walked in to the building, and was surprised at once by the lack of patrons. Checking her watch, she saw that the museum had been open for almost an hour, but perhaps it was the steady rain outside that was keeping the history buffs and busloads of students away this Wednesday morning.
Making her way to the coat check, she shrugged out of her damp coat and handed it over, along with her umbrella. A few stray drops of rain puddled on the dark wood counter, and she quickly pulled the sleeve of her sweater over her had to blot it up.
"Don't worry miss" the attendant insisted "this old thing has seen much worse that a few drops of water." Violet opened her mouth to offer an apology despite his comment, but the elderly man had disappeared into the coat room once again.
"Well, I will just catch him when I leave, then." She thought to herself. Picking up the small scrap of paper that proclaimed her habiliments were safely stowed away in bin 17, she began her familiar walk to the exhibit that had prompted this third visit of hers. Coming all the way from the Kelvingrove Gallery and Museum in Glasgow, the Highlander History and Tradition exhibit had finally made its way across the pond. Broadswords, tartan, ancient armor and everything in between was exactly the inspiration Violet was looking for to aid her in the historical fiction she was trying to write.
This particular visit, however, was going to be a bit different. She had made a few calls and somehow had been able to make an appointment to speak with the curator of the exhibit, a Mr. Gaelan Cairns, also from Scotland. Despite the fact that the hours she had spent in the exhibit had lent the entire room to memory, being able to hear about the history of the pieces from someone who shared her passion was something she would never pass up.
She made her way though the rich wooden halls teeming with more history that would have to wait for another day. She rounded the last corner and saw the glint from the wall that held the various armaments collected from various Highland battlefields. For a second, she imagined the fierce warriors that held these things, ready for battle, causing some chill bumps to run across her shoulders. From the research she had already done, it was amazing to her the sheer strength of these people, both on and off the battlefield, and what a rich history they had, although not lacking in sorrow and darkness at times.
Snapping back into the matters at hand, she found her bearings once again and turned towards the row of office towards the back of the room. She gasped in surprise as her daydreams and haste in moving had prevented her from seeing that she was well on her way to careening into something behind her.
It was a blur at first, but it soon stated to take shape as strong arms reached out to steady her. Opening her mouth to try and apologize, the second time in less than an hour, she thought, she was met with the bluest eyes she had ever seen, and a voice with a brogue that brought on a whole new series of chills...