Sketches and measurements, maps and charts. Paragraphs and equations.

Why can’t the idea just flow? Why can’t the pen know what I am thinking, and put it down on the page? Why must I continue to struggle to control every aspect? The One Words still mock me. Perhaps it is the uncertainty stemming from my lack of courage to explore them that halts my progress.

My eyes are strained and my head aches. Where am I going?

I’d also like to take a moment to point out something that I never thought I would see. You, fellow explorers have left more comments than I have posts. Does this mean I do not post enough? Does that mean you are that engaged by the inane ramblings of a boy playing in the dirt?

I still feel the need to share my thanks for something I never thought would matter to me so much. The connection I feel, makes the Cavern feel that much less empty.

Thank you all.

My mind now begins to whir…

An Age from me.

An Age from us.

I’ve been frustrated lately. The core concepts of Luminesce come so quickly and easily, and yet the work will not flow. I continue to second guess myself.

I guess I am just too much a perfectionist. I was always the child to have the grandest of visions, only to give them up if I could not even sketch them out properly. I cannot be satisfied by progress and refine later, it must all come out a masterpiece at the first stroke. My father would have me believe this is how it should be. What does he know…

I keep wondering about Luminesce and it’s potential beauty. Can the Age possibly communicate without the assistance of anything else? We explorers have been taught to solve puzzles, to piece together histories from remnants and leftover ghosts. Will the visitors to this place be so ready to toss that instinct away and just allow themselves to explore for no other reason than to experience it?

No levers to turn, no buttons to press. No glyphs to find or Journeys to take. Can the visitors to Luminesce truly appreciate that, or have we explorers built our love for D’ni on the backs of the dead? Luminesce, as an Age written by me, has no back-story. It has no tragic downfall or fatal flaw. No Campbell-esque adventure.

Just an experience, a place to reflect on one’s place among the vastness.

Why do I worry so much about anyone else’s opinions of my Age? It is the most intensely personal thing I have ever done. I must be content that it becomes what I wish it, not what I think others will wish it.

Can I even create such a place of beauty?

I can damned well try…

I had a dream last night.

I was in a strange place, perhaps an Age, perhaps home. The moonlight was on the hills, as I ran barefoot across the grass. A cool breeze whispered all around, from no direction in particular. There was an orchard of trees in the distance. As I ran towards them, the leaves rustled louder.

Louder and louder, until it was almost deafening. There was no fear in my heart, only a sense of freedom like I had never felt.

I entered the orchard, and walked among the trees. As I passed each one, I examined the back of their trunks. What I was looking for or why it was important, I had no clue.

Suddenly, the wind whipped up, and dark clouds obscured the sky, and yet I was unafraid. The thunder began, and yet I was unafraid. The rain fell, soaking me to the bone, and I lay down in the orchard, feeling the raindrops fall on my face. I smiled.

I felt no fear as the rain turned to flood waters. The water rose and I along with it as I floated serenely on top, made buoyant by the peace in my heart alone.

I floated on the water as it continued to rain, hiding any trace of land. Covering the world in deep ocean.

I awoke in my cot, in my quarters next to the lake. The quiet lapping sound my gentle companion.

Yet I felt very alone.

He wore wooden rings that made a soft clinking sound like wind-chimes.

T and his tracker's weapon

None of the Third Age natives seem to have external ears.

                                                                                                                                                    Lost in a city’s-worth of rubble, T and I were forced to rely on each other to survive. We would walk four hours in one direction, only to find it blocked by a fallen building or a once proud pillar. It was almost as if all the death and destruction was delicately placed to block our path and dash our hopes (if T is capable of such an emotion). Daedalus would have been proud.

Frequently we would stop to rest, and I could not prevent myself from staring at him. He was so alien, so strange. I’d been watching his people for months, but I had never been so close to one, nor did I ever expect to be. I suppose I shouldn’t have been so alarmed about it, the D’ni after all, were aliens of a sort, even though I had never met a full-blooded one.

I realise now what a sensitive olfactory system the tracker caste has. I was a fool for ever thinking I could hide from him. It’s entirely possible they smelled me the moment I first stepped foot into the sunlight of the Third Age.

While recovering, I attempted to put down on paper what I could remember T in detail. I look at them now and wonder exactly how accurate they are.

How strange, I keep wondering what T would think were I to show him these…

“Be yourself. Above all, let who you are, what you are, what you believe, shine through every sentence you write, every piece you finish.”

                                                                                   - John Jakes