• The Writer

    Hello! My name is Laura, welcome to my blog! I write weird stories, collect dragon plushies and stay up too late with my nose in a book. I am a wife, mom and child saved by grace. My hope is that you find encouragement here or at least a smile or too.
    God bless!

  • “Now go, write it before them in a table, and note it in a book that it may be for the time to come forever and ever.”
    ~Isaiah 30:8.

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    March 2010
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  • Quotes

    We have come from God, and inevitably the myths woven by us, though they contain error, will also reflect a splintered fragment of the true light, the eternal truth that is with God. Indeed only by myth-making, only by becoming 'sub-creator' and inventing stories, can Man aspire to the state of perfection that he knew before the Fall. Our myths may be misguided, but they steer however shakily towards the true harbour, while materialistic 'progress' leads only to a yawning abyss and the Iron Crown of the power of evil.
    ~J.R.R. Tolkien

    "The only just literary critic," he concluded, "is Christ, who admires more than does any man the gifts He Himself has bestowed."
    ~J.R.R. Tolkien

    “Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory. If a soldier is imprisioned by the enemy, don't we consider it his duty to escape?. . .If we value the freedom of mind and soul, if we're partisans of liberty, then it's our plain duty to escape, and to take as many people with us as we can!”
    ~J.R.R. Tolkien

    "Writers who see by the light of their Christian faith will have, in these times, the sharpest eye for the grotesque, for the perverse, and for the unacceptable. To the hard of hearing you shout, and for the almost-blind you draw large and startling figures."
    ~Flannery O'Connor

    You write to communicate to the hearts and minds of others what’s burning inside you. And we edit to let the fire show through the smoke.
    ~Arthur Polotnik

    Words - so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them.
    ~Nathaniel Hawthorne

    "There are forms of insanity that condemn people to hear voices against their will, but as writers we invite ourselves to hear voices without relinquishing our hold on reality or our right to control."
    ~Writing Fiction by Janet Burroway

    Christians have sometimes been suspicious of stories, because they really can influence you. If you read the Twilight novels once a month for a year, I think you'd be a different human afterward—and not a sparkly one.
    ~Nate Wilson

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Stephen of Scarborough (Part Eighteen)

The spider web work of branches rattle above me as a late breeze danced within the fall emptied limbs.  I stooped, fingering the new layer of dead leaves.  Taking in a deep breath I sighed in satisfaction.

“I hadn’t realized how much I missed this forest until now.”

William stood beside me, gazing off into the trees.  “Are the memorizes really so sweet?”

“You were not there my friend,” I rose.  William fixed me with a hard stare. “Perhaps not all of them,” I clapped him on the back, “Come, I know the perfect place to wait for dark.”

I turned and led the way, weaving through the great trees, searching out once familiar paths that now lay hidden by time.  Soon we arrived at a place where the ground sloped down into a dry stream bed.  Following this I found a great willow whose roots reached across the bed, winding among the rocks and hollows left by the forgotten stream.

“Here,” I climbed up a thick root to the base of the tree.  I pushed back vegetation growing around the huge trunk exposing a deep, cavern-like recess in the bank of the stream and roots of the tree.

“I found this by accident years ago.  It was my secret hiding place as a boy and latter…” I trailed off.

William looked over my shoulder into the dark, forest made room.  “Clever.”

We crawled in and spend the rest of the day hidden until dark.  Once the forest was covered in the thickness of night we crept out and headed for Locksley.

At the edge of the village we halted and peered out from the shadows.  My gaze wondered to the large building in the town’s center. 

“Locksley Hall,” I mumbled under my breath.  I should be riding in unashamed, I thought.  Not cowering in the dark like some common criminal.  Criminal.  The word stung even as I thought it.  I shook my head, now was not the time to let myself think of the past.  I beckoned to William,

“Follow,” silently we darted in and out of shadows until we stood with our backs pressed up against the far left wall of the side of Locksley Hall.  I looked up through the branches of an oak tree at a second floor balcony.  The sound of a female voice singing drifted down towards us.  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and hoisted myself into the tree. 

Noiselessly I climbed up its branches until I was level with the balcony.  I young lady stood with her back towards me, her curly brown hair cascading over her shoulders and down her back.     

I whistled and she turned, gasping as I jumped onto the balcony.  I smiled,

“Hello Marion.”

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Leave a comment


  1. Daniel

     /  March 24, 2010


  2. Nairam

     /  March 25, 2010

    You beat me too it.


    (I am also secretly pleased that the other Robin Hood stories I know of all seem to spell it in that manner. muwaha.


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