My son-in-law is running an RPG campaign of his own design and rule system and I needed to roll a new character—my last one got eaten by vampires. I had so much fun creating Isla Inkshadow I might just keep her around. This is one of my projects for this week.
So far this year I’ve only sent out 5 submissions. I’m still finishing up 2 last projects from last year, building the talk show, and getting the magazine on track. Here’s my submission stats for 2023 so far:
4 total submissions
2 paying markets
3 acceptances
1 outstanding
in 3 months.
And now… meet Isla Inkshadow, written just for fun. Should I keep her?
I am Isla Inkshadow, born to a humble family. My father was a skilled calligrapher who earned his living crafting beautiful letters for the wealthy, while my mother was a wise and resourceful seamstress who loved to sing. We lived modestly in a small, cozy house filled with books and stories that her father would bring home from work. In the evening my mother would entertain us with poetry and song she had composed during the days to escape the tedium of sewing. From a young age, I was enamored with the power of words, and I developed a deep love for literature and storytelling.
As I grew, I began to realize how privileged I was. The wealthy filled personal libraries with countless books, while the average citizen was left with little to no resources for learning and growth. This realization fueled my desire to bridge the gap between the wealthy and the financially weak. When my father died of ink poisoning, I vowed to become an agent of change. My mother passed away without knowledge of my intentions. She was an innocent woman.
As I became older, I found that literacy was akin to magic for many people. It held the power to empower and strangers began to ask me to share the secret of this skill. I began to trade reading lessons with soldiers in exchange for lessons in the sword and stealth. I also took up my father’s pen to practice the art of forgery as well as add to the libraries of the impoverished with my own stories and poems. Paper and ink all having a cost, I added to my list of accomplished crimes by stealing books from the rich to redistribute to those in need. I established an underground library in my home town which became a repository for books the aristocracy sought to destroy.
Naturally ambidextrous, I began wielding twin blades alongside my twin pens, and became a force to be reckoned with. It helped that I was the one writing and distributing the stories of my own exploits, more proof to me that written words held power akin to magic.
To me, my swords represent an unwavering commitment to cut away the bonds of ignorance, and my pens symbolize knowledge to be freely given. I feel that I must be a symbol of hope and inspiration for the downtrodden, and my legend will be recorded (most likely by my own hand) to inspire generations to come.
Unfortunately, I’ve recently come across an unfortunate hurdle in my plans. My knowledge is free, but I am temporarily incarcerated in a prison after I was accused of stealing an entire cart of books destined to burn. While the evidence was never found in my possession, several people with political weight swore on oath that I had threatened that they would burn before the books did. Suspiciously, their insignificant manor did light into magnificent flames shortly after the cart of books vanished.
While the fingers point to me, I of course maintain my innocence. I’m confident I will be free with no evidence to convict me. The missing books will never be found. They are already scattered through the town, igniting fires of inspiration in the minds of the folk.
Literary revolution is at hand. Something will flow free, either ink or blood. Let those that would withhold words make the choice.