Nocturnal storyteller’s thoughts

By Limor Shiponi

Its 4:37 am. For some reason I cannot sleep. A question has been grazing my mind for the past few hours, for the past few years. “Limor, why do you always seem to find your way to early stories, to characters whose features have faded? Why don’t you live in the here and now?” This is not my question. Someone else suggested it many years ago.

I’m preparing for the second story on my new project “Ladies of the Lake”. It’s a ten moons voyage, preceded with a five years voyage to find craft and tell the story of Granuaile. She will find her way into this project too; I have just begun telling her story.

That question suggests I live out of context, I know what she meant. I don’t think I do, yet the question echoes again and again appearing stronger every now and then. You could say I live out of context if I’m writing a post at 4:37 but I don’t think she is right.

Walking into history is something we do all the time. We also walk into the future. Is there a difference? I think there is. Walking into the future is noisy and crowded. Walking into history is silent and specious. The tiny details have dropped out as time went by, leaving events to prove they are relevant to us, the ongoing story of humanity.

Somehow it seems I prefer digging out stories from deep under, drawing them out from the bottom of ancient seas and what seem as stagnated lakes. They are not stagnated at all but they are hiding. Many years ago, someone, some-many, have decided they were dangerous stories. But stories not told can be more dangerous than stories told and like all stories – they never give up. Like skeleton woman, they can wait, not even remembering who they are until one day, mistakably or not someone is drawn close enough to meet them, tell them.

Igrain – she is the first on my voyage. Maybe that is why I’m thinking these thoughts.

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