My hope for this experiment is that you would have two sources of inspiration: 1) the random spark from the card, and 2) the diversity in the submissions. You all exceeded my modest vision–I was hoping to make it to the base camp of Everest, and you all are standing on the summit. Great, great job.

Except for a couple of tweets/quotes and shorter poems, everything here is an excerpt or limited version of the original. Even for the haiku, I encourage you to click through to see the submission in its natural habitat.

Also, there is a good chance that I may have mischaracterized or even entirely missed your submission. There was a lot to keep track of, and a day job and family to attend to, so no omission is intentional–please let me know and I’ll remedy it.

The final tally for today: seven creative writing pieces, seven poems/associations, three visual art pieces, and one musical piece, all inspired by one bad drawing of a wild knight on a horse. Give yourselves a big hand.

Danielle, creative writing experiment with voice (Facebook link):

And there was no way I was going to let Connor’s dad stop him from running. He might be a successful plastic surgeon while I was a lowly law student, but I had two things going for me: I’m right to encourage Connor’s running and I am much better with words. He might know how to wield a scalpel, but my weapon of choice was mightier than a sword and I had the aphorism to prove it.

Patrick, flash fiction:

His meaty fist, clenched in anger, smashed down upon the now twisted complexion staring back. Five minutes had passed and he could no longer feel his right hand. Numb from the rush of adrenaline or from repeatedly striking the man below.

My own entry, a tweet poem:

Wounds fester, cut by my pen in my jihads. Stray words draw blood. Can I call myself nonviolent?

Kuri, comic haiku:

Knight of Swords trying
To look fierce, how fierce can you
Be in pointy shoes?

Elaine, short story, Knights in the Park:

Mom sighed. “The SCA doesn’t use real swords, Katherine Marie. You’ve seen Mr. Smith’s swords. They’re made out of rattan.”

Katie sighed back, much more dramatically than her mother had.

“I told you, they’re real swords. I know, ‘cause one of them had stabbed another one, and the one that was stabbed was bleeding all over the place. It was gross.”

DavidK’s short story:

The only struggle now is that of the feeble injured, limbs twitching and mouths making empty sounds as enemy men in orange doublets raise up pale throats for the cutting.

Erin G. has this quote/association:

“Success is the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm.
– Winston Churchill

Bored in Vernal’s poem:

There’s something about a Utah ward–
Bustling with baby blessings and boundaries,
Tangling holiness and hypocrisy–
That slices the errant knight to the heart
Focusing sword-bright censure
Upon the unanchored soul.

@thmazing reworked the image:

Greg’s flash fiction:

The punk’s laughter is all that Mr. Jeffries hears. Shrill, mocking, and so very, very young. He always knew that kid was a proper little shit, and here’s the proof, Mr. Jeffries butt-suctioned to a mud puddle as he holds his aching ribs where the kid’s bike handle hit.

Sandra’s flash fiction, “Steed My Advice:

I would turn and leave this place.
Yet I am here,
far from those who truly love me,
the one who feeds and bathes me, the young one who brings me sugary treats.
Those swords will cut me open as surely they will him, but I am here

Christie’s drawing and blog post:

Kevin’s twitter-poem:

A young knight battles dragons of heart, mind and soul. Will he overcome? The tale is fraught with danger, love, hope & cheese!

Galen’s mixed media sketch:

Alana’s poem:

My Reason’s roots reside within my glance.
To know the world I must behold aright,
So logic thrives in sunny circumstance,
And in despite of daily-circling night,
I can see truth by incandescent light.

Sarah’s improv flute piece:

[podcast]http://www.mindonfire.com/images/Improv1.mp3[/podcast]

 
kayteegee’s flash fiction, “Knight of Sporks”:

The brave warrior, clad in a uniform of white and red, pursued his foe through the crowded court. The man, portly in size and wicked in deed, had done him a great dishonor. The exchange of goods and the payment of debts was the law by which the court abided, and the blackguard had violated that law.

Melissa’s poem – facebook link, will probably not work for most, so entire poem posted below:

Knight of Swords, charging
Rushing with his demons, and
Crying forth his soul