A story lost to history.
That’s how I described it.
You can’t think about it.
Too much time on the brain and it will blow your mind.
What we call recorded history has only been around for a couple of thousand years.
What we’ve found of it at least.
And in those thousand years, there have been purges of history.
Not for conspiracy.
Not to hide the lizard men running this blue marble experiment.
Not to silence the masses or keep them uneducated.
Nope,
History has been lost to conquest.
To fires.
To accident.
To theft.
And to the landfill for lack of understanding.
Who knows what knowledge was lost when the continents cracked and the sea rushed in.
Not just knowledge, but stories and tales, and documents and records.
No longer resting at the bottom of the sea but destroyed and desiccated by salt water.
Food for the fishes and crabs.
The Mongol horded sacked towns and villages and churches and holy places and used history to start dung fires.
The library at Alexandria burned.
How many others we’ve never known are gone as well.
Lost to the ravages of the elements.
And us.
Wave after wave of conquering armies tearing down old worlds to build up the new.
Erasing history.
Or rewriting it.
We know about the 300 Spartans at the Gates of Thermopile, but mostly as a lesson for our own Special Operations Group.
Duty. Honor. Sacrifice.
Life lessons that transcend lost history.
Lessons etched in blood and memory, like stories told over a war camp fire.
We have our own lost history.
On a smaller scale to be sure, but memories of Grandma’s and Papaw’s, and Mom’s and Dad’s.
Things about them lost to time.
Memory fades and even their words turn from faded ink on brittle brown pages to nothing but the ghosts of cursive letters.
Gone.
And even worse…
Forgotten.
Sweet words my Dad sent my Mom when he was nineteen and she was eighteen and they fell in love and married too young.
Letters she wrote to his twenty two year old person telling him how he broke her heart and left us without a Dad.
Some were in a green cardboard box that once housed an iron from Sears.
The box was carried through every move in the 70’s and 80’s and inherited by me when she died too young in 92.
Part of a bigger box that held more memories and a single can of Coke.
Coke that got too hot, too cold and too shaken too many times until it popped and leaked and stuck there forgotten for who knows how many years.
Coke that splattered and seeped into that iron box and turned a rubber band stack of letters into a stiff and sticky mess.
It wasn’t fire that destroyed that history or a horde of horsemen pillaging and burning.
Just a twelve ounce can of old formula treasure, kept for nostalgia or the pull tab top.
No reason to know why it was kept.
Maybe it was written down somewhere, but we lost it.
Speaking of written down, you have to go grab BLOOD BOUND today. I forgot how good it is!
I mean, if you like action, and complicated characters in impossible situations, you’ll love it, even if you don’t think you’re a fan of historical fantasy.
Plus, even though I wrote it as a movie, then a novel, it has the seeds of a series in it, or at least a trilogy, and it’s got the creative juices flowing.
And I think it would make a great graphic novel, so get your copy and let me know what you think.
I also added JOAN OF ARC to the store, if you like complicated female characters learning how to lead and become warriors. Or learning how to fight and lead. It should be on your TBR pile too.
Don’t want to read or want a refresher on Blood Bound? Subscribe to the Youtube channel and give it a listen.
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Probably.nothing but I hope I made people smile and know I cared about them.