And here it is…
A copy of the painting used to hang on my bedroom wall when I was a teenager, and I used to imagine that I was The Lady Of Shalott.
It wasn't much of a life, was it?
Pacing that small room. Looking in that mirror and seeing the reflection of the man she loved, who didn't even know she existed. Giving into the irresistible temptation to feast her eyes on him properly and then listening to the sickening sound as the mirror cracked from side to side and the web flew out, like a horrible dark spectre of a curse.
I imagined the east wind straining as she made her way down to that boat, probably freezing cold in that lovely white dress and getting mud on her delicate slippers (though we're not actually sure what she was wearing on her feet). I thought about how heavy the chain must have felt as she picked it up to loosen it, before laying down on the hard wood, with her blood growing cold in her veins as she floated down the river….
And do you know what used to make me madder than anything?
The fact that Lancelot - the man she had died for - could give such a wimpish response when he saw her corpse bobbing its way into Camelot.
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, she has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott.
I was like, IS THAT ALL?
Anyway, the book it inspired is called SHAMED IN THE SANDS, and you can read more about it here
So what inspires you?
