It is my greatest pleasure and deepest fondness to tell you, my fellow story lover, about the pleasurable and lovely adventures I was allowed to witness with my very own eyes. My very own imaginary eyes. Not that I’m blind or anything. It just happens like every author you start to develop an extra pair of eyes in your imagination. A little bit like the third eye in some religion and mythologies the author happens to be born with a pair of eyes looking in the exact opposite like your normal eyes. Inside your head, right inside your brains where all the good stuff happens. Like dreams, nightmares (Yes, I’m talking about nightmares in a good way, because nothing is better to trigger your creativity than a bunch of good old nightmares) and hallucinations. And these eyes seem to be called imaginary eyes. But I’m drifting off from the original topic. As tonight’s host of book reading and bard for the different stories, I like to introduce myself at this point. Just so we can skip the chitchat, small talk and redundant gossip about which queen‘s beheaded last week and which king seems to have problems with keeping his pants on if you know what I mean. No? Good.
My name is Cornelius Abernathy and it happened for me to be of no extraordinary looks and talents. Therefore I found myself in the peculiar position to have no other choice than to became an author or how it’s called in my era of time, a bard. I actually should have read the job introduction a little bit better. Because there is a very important difference between those terms. I just didn’t know when I applied. While an author happens to be safe and sound behind his writing desk and has nothing else to fear except maybe spilt ink in his eyes or a papercut the bard is where the real stuff happens. Imagine a medieval journalist following the adventures into the war zone to witness all the cool stuff and write it down. Great job if you don’t have the qualifications.
Now you may think if the job of the bard is so dangerous why not send a person who has all the potential of being a hero? Here’s the problem. If you have all the attributes of being strong as a bear, fast as an eagle, clever as a fox and so on and so on you don’t write about other people’s adventures. You make your own. Usually, author and bard live in some kind of symbiosis. One witnessing the adventures, the other is writing them down and here and there make them a bit greater, sparklier and just more interesting. You see, a bard usually doesn’t know the difference. If you witness three nights in a row the same horrid and terrible monsters chasing you through the wild of the forest, you don’t realize that from a readers point of view one night is absolutely enough to prove your point of being chased by horrid and terrible monsters.
But back to me. Like I said I’m nothing special. Not strong enough to be a woodworker, not clever enough to be a scholar, not talented enough to be anything. Therefore I applied for the job of the bard, thinking about my own cosy chamber with a little writing desk and a candle to bring me through long night writing sessions (You can already see one of my problems here. Lack of imagination. I could’ve thought of a big castle living as some rich guys protege living la Vida Loca but here I am just thinking about one little chamber. I haven’t even included a door or a bathroom in my daydream). I couldn’t be more wrong. Some odd feeling might have come to me when I read the job application:
„Searching for ordinary, normal and boring people. Would you see yourself as an absolutely blank page with no intention of filling it with your own life? Apply now for the job of the bard. No talents needed, actually, no talents wanted at all. (Welcome are good connections to a laundry shop with the ability to get rid of dried blood and soot marks.)“
But here I was. No money and no talents. So I thought of giving it a try. I mean what could possibly go wrong? Later I realized a lot could go wrong. And when I say a lot I mean a lot. There’s no point in describing my first few days in the job because this can be all read in „The great story of Knight Bordo“ only that I am not mentioned in the entire book. The tragic life of a bard, I know. Let’s just say the first few days involved a lot of shed blood, lost body parts and screams, a lot of screams. My fellow co-worker Bart (No kidding, his name was Bart the Bard, but even that didn’t prevent him from getting cut out of the story as well. Literally and metaphorically. Uppsie, Spoiler alert) died after he was cut into two halves after only two days. No pun intended.
But actually, something good came out of this after all. I discovered my talent for ill-fitting humour and the ability to cheat myself through every life-threating situation that might be thrown in my way. I consider this at least as two talents, which makes me, unfortunately, overqualified for the job of the bard. But my lack of other talents made me unqualified for the job of the author as well. Like I said, lack of imagination was one of the problems and I soon realized my talent for ill-fitting humour wasn’t that much appreciated as well. Well, after a long and tiring conversation with my boss we both came to the conclusion, I might try something new. Something more in between. So here I am, witnessing an ordinary fairytale with the imaginary eyes of a Barthor. Or an Authard. You see, we’re still working on it. Here you go. Have fun but don’t judge too much. It’s my first tale after all …
Hier nur ein kleiner Auszug aus Annas Buchprojekt. Mehr werdet ihr leider nicht auf RenisBooks bekommen, denn dieses Buch soll vielleicht irgendwann mal bei einem Verlag veröffentlicht werden und bleibt deshalb bis dahin geheim. Da Anna und ich aber ein wenig sadistisch sind, dürft ihr den Prolog lesen und euch ewig fragen, was als nächstes geschieht. Viel Spass 😉