I Need You To Breathe

All The Truth In The World Is Held In Stories.

Then I Felt Something Inside Me Break And Music Began To Pour Out Into The Quiet. My Fingers Danced; Intricate And Quick They Spun Something Gossamer And Tremulous Into The Circle Of Light Our Fire Had Made. The Music Moved Like A Spiderweb Stirred By A Gentle Breath, It Changed Like A Leaf Twisting As It Falls To The Ground, And It Felt Like Three Years Waterside In Tarbean, With A Hollowness Inside You And Hands That Ached From The Bitter Cold.

The Second Was Some Rather Bad Poetry, But It Was Short, And I Forced My Way Through By Gritting My Teeth And Occasionally Closing One Eye So As Not To Damage The Entirety Of My Brain.

With His Eyes And Those Hands There Won't Be A Woman Safe In All The World When He Starts Hunting After The Ladies.' 'courting, Dear,' My Father Corrected Gently. 'semantics,' She Shrugged.

I Think The Tendency To Over-explain And Over Describe Is One Of The Most Common Failings In Fantasy. It's An Unfortunate Piece Of Tolkien's Legacy. Don't Get Me Wrong, Tolkien Was A Great Worldbuilder, But He Got A Little Caught Up Describing His World At Times, At The Expense Of The Overall Story.