How the Finding of the “Treasure”
​Leads to a Protagonist’s Resurrection

It is the destiny of the hero or heroine to undertake the weight of hardships within a story. But it is the journey to the crisis that determines the essence of the resurrection. Only birth has the power to spite the fangs of death; only birth can crawl from its jaws, unscathed, and thusly, the only way to overcome the conflict is to be renewed.
It is the resurrection that overcomes — not just death — but the World as a whole. In the ways of tarot, the Fool begins his journey unscathed and innocent, and, even if a bit jaded…

Eli stood as he stared straight up into the night sky. He viewed a great beyond, dotted with subtle freckles of light here and there. Silence was the accompaniment of the occasion, and every now and again it seemed his mind could place patterns in the way the stars hung, creating the illusion that the vespers were connected by faint lines. He knew, however, this was merely his eyes playing tricks on him. The sky was a black canvas, and, the longer he looked, the deeper it appeared. …

Once I had drafted my first novel (which is currently in the revision stage), I felt rather proud of myself. I had set my mind to a project and actually followed through with it. Though I still never spoke about the accomplishment to anyone other than my friends or by a singular “I did it!” tweet on Twitter, the experience brought an unlikely revelation my way.

That is, I realized just how many people shared my goal and just how many people had story ideas exactly as I did.

Mankind is a creature intrinsically drawn to stories; stories exist in…

As a writer, I found the foundation of my own style only recently. The fantasy genre is much more than merely stories about heroes, elves, and dwarves. As a genre, it includes a specific set of characteristics; as a form of literature, it represents a realization that wells deep from within the human condition. Fantasy — — and fantasy, in particular — — is the Escapist’s Genre.

The very rise of the fantasy genre sprouts from despair. For my example, consider Tolkien’s The Hobbit. Published in 1939, the classic tale of the adventure of Bilbo Baggins came onto shelves during…


Not to get on a serious note or anything, but I wrote this little blurb, and I figured that I wanted to share it. It is simply a small observation about writing theory that came to me in a conversation with a friend as we drove down the street to Dunkin’ Donuts. Anyways…

As a writer, I spend most of my day in the worlds that inhabit my mind. I will not pretend that writing came easy to me, as it did not. I began writing as a hobby when I was sixteen. The way this occurred was a somewhat…

Suicide is the ultimate symptom of mental illness. It is called “a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” However, what exactly is this “temporary problem”? I once attended an upstart church here at my hometown in Northwest Georgia where I heard a pastor preach on suicide. He was fiery in his polemic as he exclaimed his words with passion, asking, “Would you want to leave your family and friends in grief because you were a coward?!” His words thundered throughout the auditorium and into the ears of the congregation.

Cowardice? Is it cowardice that leads a man to end his…

Boisterous blasts scattered decibels even to the farthest extremities of the small farm district. People had arrived from all sorts of places to see the spectacle that would soon take place. Rehearsals filled the sky with trails of smoke clouds, which appeared at first as slender calligraphy upon the sky until the fumes dispersed into puffy plumes of exhaust. Many residents stopped their daily chores to look up into the atmosphere, and others complained about the noise but were quickly overlooked by those driven by curiosity. …

Photo taken by William F. Burk.

The Blue Blood and the Ugandan Boy: a poem by William F. Burk

a gem in a valley,
as Churchill once described it.
A description on point,
as I would testify-
despite my sweat.

I was a sight.
Mzungu: white
guy who “runs in circles”
riding over chaotic potholes
in a landscape with
no welfare
to the vendors on the streets,
while Bastille beat drums in my ears,
a tether to the privilage of home.

On arrival,
I heard a mosque-
on speakerphone,
bellowing five pillars
out into the streets
across from the school,
where I spoke to the child…

William F. Burk

I am an independent writer of poetry, flash fiction, and fantasy. Writing is my ultimate passion. Read my blog on Medium or at !

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