Ebony's Pearls

So, I attended Peni Griffin's writing workshop Sunday morning. Some of it was familiar to me, and some of it was incredibly easy. I've been writing for hire for decades so that's really no surprise.

But - I wrote an opening paragraph that I now have to finish writing. I'm not sure if it will be a short story or a novel, or something in between, but it's definitely a con-born story composed of overheard conversations, snapshots of actions in the hallways, panel topics, and conversations with many, many different people.

Here is the opening snippet. I have no solid clue where it goes from here:

I never meant to rule the world, just a small piece of it. I stared out the barred windows at what had become my domain. All this - a world obedient to me, untold wealth, sycophants by the dozens - and still, I am a failure. Yes, yes, I whine; here in my private sanctuary, secure and safe, I can be myself however briefly, but when I walk through those doors, I will be the world leader again.

Here I permit myself a brief pity time so my weakness stays here and is never available Out There. Any sign of weakness and those sycophants will devour me as I have been forced to devour all those other weak leaders. My dear, darling sycophants are pathetic, selfish, greedy little people and they will destroy this world as surely as they breathe; I can't allow them to rule.

Perhaps I have failed in my ultimate and most desired goal, but I have done well by this world. It prospers, flourishing well beyond what the scientists, sociologists, and prophets imagined. We have order and justice and world peace of a sort. It's an uneasy peace, of course, but I am firm and the peace will last so long as I do. It is a burden I chose to accept when I realized this was the only way to get what I needed. I would give up all this if I knew I could just have that. To have that, my little bit, I must endure all of this.

My new plans for legally gaining my piece of the world continues apace and perhaps this time, they will succeed.

I have been here long enough to worry Chice and my always pressing duties await me. Since my melancholy fit has passed, I light the old fashioned brazier and burn some blank papers in it. In the early days, when I realized how much I needed the privacy and freedom to give in to my fears and anxieties, I wrote them down and burned them in this very brazier. I have hauled the brazier with me everywhere for this purpose and it has become a symbol to the people. They believe I mourn the fallen here and burn prayers to their souls. Fostering that belief prevents even the most determined person from interrupting me when I retreat here. Now that science has progressed far enough to reconstruct the ashes no matter how fine the ash or how widely I can disperse them myself - which isn't far anymore for there's always someone following me to clean up, carry my things, or spy on me, I no longer write down my weakness and my desire. Blank paper keeps up the illusion, confounds the scientists, and gives me this brief freedom. I love blank paper.

The flames die and the papers are now a thin layer of ash in the brazier. I wait until I can stir them with my finger - another small act that pleases the people. It takes little effort from me and brings great rewards. I have found that it is the small acts that make people happy. Grand gestures only make them crave more and grander gestures, but the small acts grab their hearts and they nod and agree I am worthy. My life is composed of many, many small acts, each designed to both please the people and to further my own goals.

As I wait for the ashes to cool, I sit in the only chair in this vast room, made larger by its spartan decor. The room is a huge lead box lined in white sound dampening tiles and furnished only with my chair and this brazier. I have had similar rooms in all the palaces and fortresses and buildings I have inhabited. The barred window is a red herring for those who might seek to assassinate me or to stage a rebellion while I am in here - they think I will escape through it. The window also allows me to show myself to the people so they see my piety and deduce a love for them that isn't there. Small things.

I stir the ashes, still slightly warm, and lift the bowl to carry with me out of the room. No one enters it but me, not even cleaning staff. Just inside the door, I draw in a deep breath, then open it. Only Chice stands there. I hand him the brazier's bowl to be cleaned and walk past him, trusting he will hand the brazier off to one of the building's many cleaning employees as he follows me to the Receiving Hall. Here, I clasp Cpt. Kamran to my heart not because I love him but because I don't trust him. Keep the untrustworthy near that you may foil his plans when they are still small and weak, my father always said. Kamran has greedy eyes, wandering hands, and a heart that loves only himself. He is cruel because it pleases him, not because he must, and so I keep him very close. His hands find no chink in my armor.

I let go of him with a dismissive wave of my hand and a head turned towards the room as I ask him, "Are the petitioners in order?"

"Yes, Prima. They await...." he trailed off as I walked away from him. I know the details. He has foolishly logged them to the open house network. Everyone thinks they know the details.

So, is it worth trying to find out her back story and then writing the story forward?