Creative Assistance
(Day 24 of @thewatchau‘s annual prompts!)
The rain hammered down outside, and the room was warmly lit. A fire burned in the hearth and candles were propped up on every surface.
The whole place was new, the stones were fresh cut and the wood rafters were pale and still smelt a bit like sawdust. Ivy probably noticed it a bit more than Hazel, and she felt the urge to sneeze every now and again.
Looking up at her mentor, the younger blonde had to hold it in. Hazel was furiously writing notes, pushing her large glasses up her nose every now and again as they slipped down. She was writing so fast Ivy was surprised she wasn’t spraying ink everywhere.
Ivy leaned back and looked at her own paper. She never realised how hard it was to write something, she had the words in her head, but when they went of paper, something was off. What was in her head wouldn’t translate to paper.
She tried to put it down as quietly as she could before stretching out her neck. They were both sitting on the floor to do this, since Hazel hadn’t bought much furniture yet. There was a bed, a cooking pot and a water bucket. That was it.
Hazel noticed the movement and paused, looking up from her work.
“Neck cramp?”
Ivy nodded, moving her head from side to side. “Finger cramp?”
Hazel paused, and began to stretching out her fingers. “…Maybe,” she admitted, placing the quill in the ink pot.
“You need a table,” Ivy noted, not for the first time.
“I know I know,” Hazel agreed. “But they’re useless without chairs as well, and it just keeps on adding up.”
This was a conversation they’d had before, and Ivy had no intention of continuing it the rest of the way. Instead she picked up her work and looked at it again. Now she’d taken a quick break from it, the wording looked even worse.
“Having trouble?” Hazel was still massaging her fingers.
“I’m not much of a wordsmith,” Ivy sighed before placing it back on the floor. “And here you are writing ten words a second!”
Hazel chuckled, and scooted over to where Ivy was sitting, so that they sat next to each other.
“May I?” the Bard asked, and Ivy handed over her work.
Hazel looked it over.
“Okay, I think I see your point, maybe a little of word reworking,” Hazel tilted her head to one side. “All in all, a good draft.”
“…That wasn’t supposed to be a draft.”
“Really? Is this the first you’ve written that scene?”
“Yes but-!”
“Then it’s a draft,” Hazel placed it down on the floor. “It doesn’t have to perfect the first time through. Just get the scene roughly how you want it, make notes and write out the revised scene again.”
“Isn’t all of this,” Ivy gestured to the paper, ink and quills, “expensive?”
“Sometimes, although a lot of guild memberships give you discounts,” Hazel half smiled. “Relax, I have a lot hoarded up. Write on both sides if it worries you.”
“I… thanks,” Ivy still wasn’t sure why she was still a bit rattled by Hazel’s words.
“You wanted it to be perfect first time, didn’t?” Hazel smiled sympathetically.
“…maybe,” Ivy admitted, that was exactly it.
“It’s not going to be. My old mentor used to tell me nothing is perfect. If it was perfect, why would you continue to work on it? Make things better, but making them perfect is a recipe for madness.”
Ivy hummed under her breath a little in response. Part of her wasn’t convinced, but Hazel did have more experience.
“Maybe I should put more of a spin on it,” Hazel took of her glasses and put them to one side, before tossing her chestnut hair and spreading her arms dramatically.
“Beware writers and artists! For perfection is the recipe of madness. Few obtain it, and many wish they never tried. Be bad, be awful, be terrible! Be good, be excellent, be brilliant! This is better than perfection!”
Hazel boomed it out in her performance Bard voice, rattling the shutters and candle flames.
“You’ve made your point!” Ivy couldn’t help but laugh a little. On the streets performing the Voice was perfect, in here it just sounded silly and pompous.
Hazel also broke into giggles, retrieving her glasses. “Glad to hear.”
“Excuse me a second,” Ivy made a big show of snapping her fingers by her ears to check for hearing. “No, you haven’t deafened me yet!”
“Clearly I’m not trying hard enough!”
(Em posted on the discord what she meant by that prompt, I may not have interpreted the same way!
This is about Jan 1603, and it’s so weird to think that Ivy is 16 in this (maybe if I characterised her growth better) but hey.)
