A Need To Assay.

Here's something I don't say very often.

I want to hit someone.  I want to approach someone with intent to do violence unto their person, and strike them stoutly.

I'm a pacifist.  I don't hate guns, but I have no desire to own one.  Were I young enough to be drafted, I would be a conscientious objector and would try to find non-violent ways to serve in times of war.  I've never lifted a hand to my wife or children.  Most ultra-violent movies sicken me.  I've only seen Saving Private Ryan once, and I've never been able to sit through Schindler's List.

But I want to hit someone.

I'm an educated man.  I believe in diplomacy and sanctions, and while I do believe that some wars are necessary, I certainly don't think that either Gulf War fell into that category.  When presented with the "a murderer is going to kill your children and you have a gun, what do you do" hypothetical, I say "I'll find another way.  I live "turn the other cheek".

I really want to hit someone.

I have told parents to be more gentle with their children.  I believe that corporal punishment is wrong, and have never spanked my children in punishment.  I work very hard to teach them all that hitting is wrong.  I try (and often fail) to not raise my voice to the boys.

I absolutely positively want to hit someone.

I want to shift with the weight of the polearm as it swings around.  I want to pivot my hips and tense my arms as I sent it cutting towards my opponent. I want to feel the shock of impact rock the haft in my hands, and I want to see my opponent's head recoil from the impact.

I want to feel the ground roll under my feet as I charge with my shield and sword before me, crashing into the opposing line, breaking it with my compatriots, and hear the roar of the army behind me as they sweep into the hole that we have made.  I want to be crushed at the bottom of a pile of holy dead who have fought to the last man against un-beatable odds.

I want to see the herald stride out into the list to announce myself and my opponent.  I want to feint and guard with my dueling spear.  I want to scream like a berserker, sweeping my footman's mace from side to side, clearing the way.

I want to feel the weight of my armor on my hips and my shoulders and my forearms and my head, sliding my helmet down to rest solidly upon my skull, my face spreading into a grinning death's-head as I pick up my sword and shield and form a bulwark against all comers, jostling and pressing against the enemy and my brothers and sisters in the Red Pale to either side.

I want to hit someone.  I hunger for it.  I thirst.  In the morning, I awake to the thought, and at night, I dream of slaying thousands, laughing.

I have forged my weapons.  I have donned my armor.  I carry my lady's favor on my belt, and my honor in my heart.

I want to fight.

On Humility, Mindfulness, and Assumptions.

Mindfulness.  Being mindful.  Being aware of who you are, what you say, what you do and how you do it.  Every time I think I'm doing it, every time I think it's getting easier, Loki laughs at me, and Odin lets me make an example out of myself.

I was so full of myself yesterday.  I was proud of myself.  I had spoken about how I was working on being the person I wanted to be, of living up to the expectations of others.

Over the last seven years, I have constantly tried to climb out of the hole I put myself in.  Scrabbling at the dirt, sometimes gaining the lip of the crater, every once in a while, even getting an elbow or two out onto the grass.  Hey, it's pretty up here.  I should try to get out of the hole.  But every time, I reached too far, or pushed too hard, and slipped.

Until this past six months.  This past six months, I made good career building choices and followed through on them.  I lost thirty pounds, I got back into the SCA, I started writing music again, and I made some excellent new friends.  My fencing has improved.  My poetry is better.  I feel happier about myself and my skills and my accomplishments.

And then yesterday, I made an assumption, did an about face, and walked right back into the hole.

It's not important who I've offended, or how.  I've apologized, and sworn to do better, sworn to make recompense.

It's not good enough.

In my Knightly Virtues Cycle, I wrote about Humility, and I joked that it's "Knightly" Humility, which is different, of course, than "regular" humility, and there's something actually to that, but Humility, I lack it.  I lack it a lot.  There's something in me I need to fix, something that automatically thinks "this thing is now about me."  It's not.  Most things are not about me.  At best, some things might be about me AND someone else.

Perhaps it is my eagerness.  Perhaps it is my desire to be liked and respected.  But lacking humility and mindfulness doesn't get me there.

I thought I was doing better.  That was just my pride.  That was just my arrogance.  That was me falling back into the hole.


I must be self aware. I must be humble.  I must be mindful.

Yesterday was a Parenting Failure.

Yesterday was a parenting failure. In order to explain how, I have to give some background.

TL;DR:  I need to treat my ex-wife as a rebellious teenager, who will not do what I ask for the sheer satisfaction of refusing me.  In other words, I need to deal with her the same way I deal with our son.

Reflecting on the Past

Today we have a guest post from Paul Carroll.

We come to the close of the tour, today, with a greater understanding on what was done, and how it was done, but there remains a question still be discussed: what was the book actually about?

Balor Reborn is a novella that takes an old Irish story into modern day Dublin. Balor of the Evil Eye, a one-eyed giant with a look that kills (literally), breaks free of his confines in death and enters the life of a mourning widower. In the original story, only Balor’s grandson can kill him, leaving the old giant free to cause as much destruction as he pleases in the meantime. The story of Balor has been rewritten for a modern audience, in a modern city, without losing much of the original feel to it.

Today, I want to discuss how you can do that, too. There are so many myths out there. The ancient religions, those that pre-date Christianity, are full of heroes, villains, monsters and magic, gods and fairies roaming free and unleashing great blessings and terrible darkness on whatever country the stories have been told in. In Greece, the Olympians fought the Titans, causing great volcanoes to erupt and shaping the landscape of the country. In England, Camelot staged great battles that decided the future of the monarchy, and set the country free from the dangers of magical beings. In Mexico, the Day of the Dead still occurs to mark the passing of spirits from this world to the next, taking its roots from Aztec traditions.

But how do you decide what to include in your story? Here are some simple tips to take a story from the past and make it into something new.

1. Note the focus of the story. Balor’s single eye was of great significance, and so ignoring it wouldn’t live up to the myth. As well as that, there was a particular focus on the relationship between Balor and his grandson Lugh; only Lugh could kill Balor. That, too, was something I had to focus on for my book.

2. Note the context of the story. The giant was a king, and a tyrant, leader of the Fomorians. He wasn’t just a lone figure deciding to kill people for the heck of it. Balor wanted to take over Ireland, and he had the means to do it. So, we have a war brewing. With that in mind, we now know that there has to be another side to it, someone to try fight Balor. In the story, this was the Tuatha Dé Danann, the old Irish gods.

3. Note the terminology the characters in the story will have used. My beta reader pointed out to me that Fay is a seldom used, and modern, term for fairies, so I went with the Irish equivalent: Aos Sídhe. This allowed me to keep fairies in the books, and stick to the traditional name for them in Irish folklore.

Is that enough? No. Noting down these areas of a story is only the beginning, but let’s review what I had to draw from the story of Balor of the Evil Eye. He had to have one eye, that killed. Only his grandson can kill him. He was a tyrant, and was starting a war: we now have the Fomorians and the Tuatha Dé Danann to consider. He wouldn’t use an English term, so he’ll use Aos Sídhe when talking about fairies. This is the beginning of how I created my story.

From there, I applied some originality. I wanted Balor to come back from the dead, but he doesn’t technically have a corpse in this world. So his spirit had to come through, before he could reconstruct a body. He needed a host, so we have Stephen.

Stephen has two eyes. It would be cruel to suggest that because he lost his eye he was a suitable host for Balor. With that in mind, he needed to have a darker back story, and the eye had to take on a new form. So, I wrote the eye as being made from gold, and growing from within Stephen’s head. Now, I have an innocent character possessed by rage and pain, with a voice in his head. But what about that grandson?

He had to be a father, at some point. That’s part of his story. Now we know more about Stephen.

When we meet Fionn, the young man told he has to save the country, I had to present a risk to him. Not only is Balor alive, we also have the problem of the Fomorians. If the tyrant is here, naturally they’ll have to follow. This adds risk to the story, and incorporates more of the myth. What are we missing, then?

The Tuatha Dé Danann, for a start. This is the first book in a series, so I wanted to bring them in slowly. They’re gods, after all. Something that powerful on the hero’s side of the battle is too much to handle early on. However, I dropped mentions of them throughout the book. And as for the fairies? Well, they get their mentions, too, but they’re a more cowardly bunch than Balor. He’s been trapped for millennia, and he’s annoyed, so it makes sense that he’ll come on the assault more quickly than them.

And with that, we have Balor Reborn. I threw in more twists of my own, too, but they’re not all directly related to the myth. These form the overarching story. Of course, my way isn’t the only way. There have been a number of stories including the Olympians, and the Egyptians, and countless other deities, and they’ve all done something different with the myths. With so many stories out there, some better known than others (Balor not being an especially well known Irish story), we writers are spoiled for choice. All we need to do is look back on everything that’s happened before us, and doing your own Writing Olympics isn’t so difficult a feat anymore.

Bio



Paul Carroll is a writer from Dublin. He is studying to be a teacher of Religion and English at second level, while working in a bookshop at weekends. His 'free time' is divided among assignments, fiction, poetry, articles and blog posts, as well as college Drama and almost weekly trips to the local cinema.

He has been writing since the age of twelve, with a love of words going back further than he can remember. When he isn't reading or writing, he likes to make use of social media, bake, and talk to friends. Often, he'll watch a horror film alone in the dark for the sheer joy of it.

He can be found online at paulcarrollwriter.com.

About Balor Reborn



Old Ireland is returning, as an ancient evil arrives in Dublin. A single glance from his eye is all it takes to kill.

Stephen Fox is haunted by the memory of his wife, and suffers from guilt at abandoning his new-born son. The spirit of the tyrant Balor has come back to take his vengeance on the country. A hero must rise in the unwilling form of Fionn Murray, a university student with a mysterious past.. As a world of wonder unfolds around him, and with no one but his house mate Michael at his side, he’s left with the choice of running, or facing the evil that could consume the world.

Based on the old Irish myth of Balor of the Evil Eye, Balor Reborn is the first in a series that seeks to revive the magic of Ireland. It was written and published in one week.

It's available to buy on PDF, Epub and Mobi through http://paulcarrollwriter.com/balor/
Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008S1FGFW
Amazon.co.uk: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B008S1FGFW

The Enhanced Skills Guide for Procrastination Writing

Its crunch time for your literary work of art and the deadline is approaching
lightning fast. Whether it’s for a Blog, Novel, or NaNoWriMo, you’re more interested in a YouTube video of cute and cuddly sloths. It’s no big deal you can get it done later, you’ve got time and besides you work best under pressure so what’s the hurry. Well if you have said I have been there and done that, you have excellent procrastination skills!

Oh I almost forgot I was supposed to write a stint on motivation; not how to procrastinate like a ninja and still manage to get your project done in the nick of time. I guess I will have to save that for another post. Now let’s get down to the dirty scoop on how to be motivated, even though I want to procrastinate and go look at the cute sloths right now… Oh look a shiny new light bulb!

First off procrastination can be used as a means to provide motivation; the trick is to stay on topic. Researching aspects of what you will write is a great way to put depth into your writing, watching videos on the topic can spark some fresh ideas. Talking about what you will write or have written can offer different perspectives that can help keep the creativity magma flowing when it becomes stagnate after looking at cute sloths. The thing is you can procrastinate and keep motivated!

There are so many ways to keep motivated that quite frankly you would be reading for days if I name them all. This is only a small fraction of what you can do to stay motivated and feel free to leave in the comments below of what helps keep you motivated.

1. Motivation is just another word for inspiration. If you are lacking in motivation to write, perhaps you are losing inspiration for your plot, character or theme and maybe you need to revisit those sections and change it up, by maybe killing someone in the plot, or throwing them into an inter-dimensional rift; well at least revisit your work and see if the project you are writing is really the right one for you. If you find things that you’re passionate about, writing becomes easy.

2. One of the things that can kill your motivation to write is expecting too much. Maybe you've set a goal for so many words a day or pages a week and it is too daunting. One of the things that helps get over this is do not think about how much you need to write and just write. It does not need to be perfect. Don’t worry about getting it right…just get it down. First drafts usually suck. That’s why second, third, and eighth drafts exist. Aim for excellent results, but don’t set the bar too high at first. Having a sloppy but finished first draft is far better than having no draft at all Try organizing some ideas on sticky notes, napkins, sugar packets in the middle of a restaurant (Yes I have written an entire poem on sugar packets because I had nothing to write on) post them around so that you can submerge yourself with ideas and motivation.

3. Eliminate distractions, whatever they may be. I deleted my Facebook account because I was too distracted and my writing suffered greatly. This may also apply to those who need to turn off their cell phone and, if possible, their internet connection. Escape from people who demand your attention. Each distraction pulls your focus away from the task at hand.

4. Be accountable for what you write, it’s hard to be unmotivated when you have people eager to read what you’ve written. Join writing circles, attend a silent write in a Goggle+ Hangout, and go out with your local writer’s clubs such as NaNoWriMo and Literary+. Get others to put a bit of friendly pressure on you to help keep the imagination station from stalling. Post your goal on your blog and post regular updates. It’s important that you not just post the goal but also stay accountable with the updates. Encourage people to ask you about your goal if you don’t report your progress.

5. Where you write matters! If you are in a place that you are distracted, too comfortable in the sense it will make you fall asleep such as your bed, or if you are in an atmosphere that does not enable you to write such as a significant other asking every thirty minutes if you’re going to play World of Warcraft with them; not naming names. (Tj) It is impossible to be motivated and inspired. If you are in a quiet space surrounded by nature or books or something of that environment, you will be able inspired and motivated to write!

At the moment the number one thing that has been motivating me to write is the company I keep, and donating most of what I sell (90%) to the MS Society of Canada. The more I write and the more people take notice and donate to me, the more I can donate to a place that holds dear to my heart. I provide proof of where the money goes via online registration and pictures as I am sincere and honest, but it is my driving force that helps me keep going even through the toughest of times when I am unable to write due to pain. My other inspiration to keep writing is to breathe life into my characters as often they become their own entities, and I am the person solely responsible to make sure they have an opportunity to step out into the world.

I shall go look at cute, cuddly and adorable sloths now! And as I always say… “A procrastinator’s work is never done!”

* * * * *

More about A.K. Flynn:

Salutations! My Name is A.K. Flynn, I'm a 27 year old bright eyed bushy tailed Child and Youth Worker to be, who is very ambitious and absolutely in love with writing all sorts mind perplexing Fiction. I also tend to pour my emotions out on the screen as it is the only thing that keeps my hectic life sane. As of right now my website and second novel seems to be a major focus and writing is my major outlet so it all pans out perfectly. Oh did I mention I was a redhead? Well now you know! So you know my writing has got to be good, because redheads are very spontaneous... (runs off into the distance babbling to herself)

Links:
Blog: Inside The Perplexed Mind of a Dreamer
G+ profile: A.K. Flynn

Literary+ is a writer based project brought together and lead by Shen Hart. It brings together passionate, quality self-published writers to help each other promote their work, bringing more readers to every member. It was sparked by the simple fact that there are many top quality self-published authors being over-looked because they do not have the time and resources to efficiently and effectively market and promote themselves. With ambition and passion, Literary+ will take its members to the heights they deserve through a tight-knit community of like-minded writers.

His Face All Red

A few weeks ago, I read the webcomic "His Face All Red" by Emily Carroll
(http://emcarroll.com/comics/faceallred/01.html), which possessed me to write this:

----------------------------------------

How could you be so well, brother
How could you be so right
When I killed you with a push, brother
in the woods, that night

As we gather in the tavern
The crowd around you grows
And I cannot understand, you see
How nobody there knows
That the man who stands before them
Though he seems like brother mine
Is no relation to human men
with beastly light he shines

I was trying to be hero-ish
That day deep in the woods
To emulate my brother dear
The way that all men should
But my jealousy was stronger
than my bravery that night
when I killed my bother in the woods
Killed him there without a fight

How could you be so well, brother
How could you be so right
When I killed you with a push, brother
in the woods, that night

For a fortnight and a fortnight more
a beast had roamed the land
killing livestock, wrecking fences
Like a hammer from Thor's hand
When my brother lost his holdings
I stood up to hunt the beast
Facing laughter from the townsfolk
For of brothers, I was least

But he stood up there beside me
"We shall bring the terror down"
And the laughter then subsided
As we stood before the town
And that night we walked the forest
Walked the woods all quiet and dark
And my brother talked to loudly
And our way he did not mark

How could you be so well, brother
How could you be so right
When I killed you with a push, brother
in the woods, that night

Then we came upon a shadow
Dug so deep into the ground
The scent of lilac floating
like from ladies in the town
As we knelt to see the bottom
He the greater, I the least
From trees around came growling
There he found us, had the beast

Without thinking, I ran far away
Into the woods that night
And when I finally did return
My brother'd slayed the blight
"Twas a wolf, that's all" he said to me
"A wolf, he laughed so gay
And I knew that all the town would be
So grateful the next day.

How could you be so well, brother
How could you be so right
When I killed you with a push, brother
in the woods, that night

As we laughed I stepped around him
as if to see the beast up near
But then I spun and hit him
Twice and thrice, from the rear
When the work was done, I dragged him
His face all dark and red
To the shadow in the ground
and let him fall, for he was dead

Then I carried back the beast
To the town on shoulders wide
And a scrap of coat all bloodied
That my brother wore that night
"We had split up," I told the townsfolk,
"The beast devored him all,
"But I killed the monster then,
"And avenged my brother's fall."

How could you be so well, brother
How could you be so right
When I killed you with a push, brother
in the woods, that night

And they cheered me then, the villagers
even my brother's wife
And though I feared another attack
Through the night survived all life
People thanked me and consoled me
For my loss and bravery
And my brother's farm and animals
Were given then, to me.

So I slept the sleep of innocense
No dreams to stir and toss
And three days did pass without a death
Three days without a loss,
But on the third day from the woods
My brother walked from there
"Thought I was lost," he said so loud
"But my brother led me here."

How could you be so well, brother
How could you be so right
When I killed you with a push, brother
in the woods, that night

And as the townsfolk cheered and laughed
I knew it was not him.
His wife was fooled, the mayor too
But I knew t'was not my kin
For though he looked just like the man
I'd known since I was born
It could not be my brother slain
His fine coat was not torn.

So now my dreams are scarred with fear
And sleep I cannot make
His face all red I always see
Red when life I did take
And every night I see him there
out in the emtpy fields
He's digging down so very deep
And shadows he reveals

How could you be so well, brother
How could you be so right
When I killed you with a push, brother
in the woods, that night

Now every morn, I stumble in
To break fast in his home
But he will not deign to look at me
So now the woods I roam
And finally one night I find
The shadow in the ground
And down I climb the putrid walls
To see what can be found.

When I have reached the bottom
Of the shadow well so deep
And with the lantern flickering
I will find what I do seek
My brother's body, slumped across
the floor, his face all red
But as I reach to touch him, his eye opens...
He's not dead.

How could you be so well, brother
How could you be so right
When I killed you with a push, brother
In the woods, that night

Book Reviews

I just wrote two book reviews for works by Masha du Toit, a fellow member of the Literary+ writers collective. Go check them out!

Review of Strange Neighbors.

Review of The Story Trap.