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.
28 April, 2014
24 April, 2014
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.
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.
15 January, 2014
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.
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.
12 August, 2012
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
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
24 July, 2012
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.
22 July, 2012
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
(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
15 July, 2012
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.
Review of Strange Neighbors.
Review of The Story Trap.
Batman Killed My Mary Sue - When a Character is Just Too Dark
Today, fantasy author JD Savage will be providing his unique take on things as part of the first ever Literary Plus Blog Tour!
Batman Killed My Mary Sue - When a Character is Just Too Dark
All the world loves a villain. We love to see him revel in his, (or her) own evil-ness. We love to watch, sometimes through parted fingers, the debauchery and vile doings of the world’s most wicked of foes. For, he must be a foe to the hero, someone who is just slightly less powerful, someone who can achieve victory beyond all hope. Someone to save us from this delicious maniac.
The delight in creating a villain is intoxicating. The chance to let go of all of those social rules and moral wrongs is a liberating thing. It allows us as writers to plunge ourselves into the darkest of pits without fear, because we know the stalwart hero will win in the end.
But sometimes, there is a danger in creating the villain that may slip past the unsuspecting writer. That danger is in the making of him. Because a villain must appeal to some part of us. The bad guy must have something about him that makes him relatable, something to anchor him to the reader, even if it’s merely a sense of style. To make the villain so wholly evil as to have no redeeming qualities is just as dangerous as creating the Mary Sue - that character with no flaws, no mistakes in her past and no choice but to do the right thing.
Both become tedious for the reader because there is no surprise. If we know Mary Sue will uncover the bad guy’s plot, we can live with it, as long as there is some question about what she’ll do about it. If we know she will certainly do the right thing… well… why am I reading this again? The same is true for the villain.
Consider this: A henchman brings forth the child, kidnapped as a central plot point. The villain kills the child. There’s no where to go now. The hero must avenge.
But, if the henchman brings forth the child, and offers him up for the slaughter and the villain stabs the henchman, woah! Why? The child has blue eyes, and the villain’s mother had blue eyes. The villain reflects on his mother’s cruelty toward him as a youngster.
Oh, now I want to know more. I’m turning page after page, hoping for more glimpses into his back story as he carves a bloody path through the adults that stand in his way. Why does he do this? If the villain and I share traits, what keeps me from becoming just like him? How close to the edge am I really?
With some aspect of the villain’s character creating doubt about where he sits between good and evil, there is a chance of redemption. Will he take that final step, or will he see the error of his ways? Whatever makes him human, whatever creates that balance between good and evil, no matter how heavily weighted to one side, is what keeps us glued to them and their actions.
That connection is the same for the hero. Comic fans know Batman won’t kill, but it’s his propensity to go right up to that line he won’t cross and lean waaaay out over it that keeps such a character in the pantheon of heroes. It’s the tragic back story that drives him. It’s that drive that creates the tragedies he has endured since becoming who he is. He can’t quit, but he knows he should because of all of the death and cruelty his being a hero has created. And I’m turning pages like they are on fire.
The propensity to write a character as being so evil as to be beyond redemption is strong. For many writers, myself included, I want to create a situation that has the audience cheering for my protagonist. The logical course to take is to make the antagonist so dark, so wholly beyond saving, as to let the reader share my revulsion with him, and cheer his comeuppance. But without that spark, without that pathos or humor or endearing quality, the reader will know the end of your story long before the last page. If that happens, there’s no reason to expect that they will be reading the first page of your next effort.
* * * * *
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.
"The Seeds"
This is not your grandmother's fairy tale. A fantasy novel that turns the genre on its head, "The Seeds" follows Trooper Angus Mayweather as he is thrust into the conflict faced by twin sisters Dartura & Varia, Generals of the Tarol Nation. As the sisters uncover a new threat from an old enemy, Angus must do what he can to help as the Tarol Nation faces all-out war.
Batman Killed My Mary Sue - When a Character is Just Too Dark
All the world loves a villain. We love to see him revel in his, (or her) own evil-ness. We love to watch, sometimes through parted fingers, the debauchery and vile doings of the world’s most wicked of foes. For, he must be a foe to the hero, someone who is just slightly less powerful, someone who can achieve victory beyond all hope. Someone to save us from this delicious maniac.
The delight in creating a villain is intoxicating. The chance to let go of all of those social rules and moral wrongs is a liberating thing. It allows us as writers to plunge ourselves into the darkest of pits without fear, because we know the stalwart hero will win in the end.
But sometimes, there is a danger in creating the villain that may slip past the unsuspecting writer. That danger is in the making of him. Because a villain must appeal to some part of us. The bad guy must have something about him that makes him relatable, something to anchor him to the reader, even if it’s merely a sense of style. To make the villain so wholly evil as to have no redeeming qualities is just as dangerous as creating the Mary Sue - that character with no flaws, no mistakes in her past and no choice but to do the right thing.
Both become tedious for the reader because there is no surprise. If we know Mary Sue will uncover the bad guy’s plot, we can live with it, as long as there is some question about what she’ll do about it. If we know she will certainly do the right thing… well… why am I reading this again? The same is true for the villain.
Consider this: A henchman brings forth the child, kidnapped as a central plot point. The villain kills the child. There’s no where to go now. The hero must avenge.
But, if the henchman brings forth the child, and offers him up for the slaughter and the villain stabs the henchman, woah! Why? The child has blue eyes, and the villain’s mother had blue eyes. The villain reflects on his mother’s cruelty toward him as a youngster.
Oh, now I want to know more. I’m turning page after page, hoping for more glimpses into his back story as he carves a bloody path through the adults that stand in his way. Why does he do this? If the villain and I share traits, what keeps me from becoming just like him? How close to the edge am I really?
With some aspect of the villain’s character creating doubt about where he sits between good and evil, there is a chance of redemption. Will he take that final step, or will he see the error of his ways? Whatever makes him human, whatever creates that balance between good and evil, no matter how heavily weighted to one side, is what keeps us glued to them and their actions.
That connection is the same for the hero. Comic fans know Batman won’t kill, but it’s his propensity to go right up to that line he won’t cross and lean waaaay out over it that keeps such a character in the pantheon of heroes. It’s the tragic back story that drives him. It’s that drive that creates the tragedies he has endured since becoming who he is. He can’t quit, but he knows he should because of all of the death and cruelty his being a hero has created. And I’m turning pages like they are on fire.
The propensity to write a character as being so evil as to be beyond redemption is strong. For many writers, myself included, I want to create a situation that has the audience cheering for my protagonist. The logical course to take is to make the antagonist so dark, so wholly beyond saving, as to let the reader share my revulsion with him, and cheer his comeuppance. But without that spark, without that pathos or humor or endearing quality, the reader will know the end of your story long before the last page. If that happens, there’s no reason to expect that they will be reading the first page of your next effort.
* * * * *
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.
This is not your grandmother's fairy tale. A fantasy novel that turns the genre on its head, "The Seeds" follows Trooper Angus Mayweather as he is thrust into the conflict faced by twin sisters Dartura & Varia, Generals of the Tarol Nation. As the sisters uncover a new threat from an old enemy, Angus must do what he can to help as the Tarol Nation faces all-out war.
09 July, 2012
Blog Tour Day One
Literary+ is holding its first blog tour featuring author JD Savage. He'll be talking about the new book: The Seeds and much more.JD's first guest blog post can be found on Scott Roche's blog and is entitled: Profanity in YA Novels
| Useful Links |
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This is not your grandmother's fairy tale. A fantasy novel that turns the genre on its head, "The Seeds" follows Trooper Angus Mayweather as he is thrust into the conflict faced by twin sisters Dartura & Varia, Generals of the Tarol Nation. As the sisters uncover a new threat from an old enemy, Angus must do what he can to help as the Tarol Nation faces all-out war. |
30 June, 2012
So this poem is a direct result of my wife making me clean up because we've got family coming in for the holiday. I found this buried in a stack of papers that I'd pulled out of an old binder. I'm pretty sure it's nearly 20 years old -- from around 1993-1994.
Now, don't get me wrong. The poem as originally written is HORRIBLE. Extraneous words, bad placement, etc. But it gave me the opportunity to edit and rewrite, which is something I need a lot of practice doing.
So here it is.
The Dark
(c) Drew Nicholson 2012
The dark makes everyone beautiful
soft focus the crags of age into the gently rolling hills of earlier years
clouds of eyelashes scud gently across your seafoam gaze
The dark makes everyone younger
brushing good full dirt into the cracks of accountability
encasing the resonant memories
The dark makes everyone quiet
enveloping sound with silence, deafening even those who do not hear
but listen, there! crickets hop across the meadow, I can tell
The dark makes everyone real
hands soft and gentle as I brush through the weight of tears
exposing everything masked by the light
The dark makes everyone open
the only place where you completely relax
no fear of the dark for you or I.
25 June, 2012
Related Sites
Here are some related sites I want to link people to.
Literary+ is the new writing group I've joined. A lot of my friends are in it, and we will certainly welcome new members.
42wd Publishing is community sourced publishing. What does that mean? It means they cut out the middle man, without leaving you completely on your own.
Fact n Fiction is a Nick Byford's writing site and it has a lot to offer, including a home-page for Literary+ outside of G+.
Watch all these places for more content from the Literary+ writing collective!
24 June, 2012
When Ren met Neerya
In order to figure out these characters more, I'm writing some back-story flash-fiction pieces. This is my first. I dunno, I think I rushed it. What do you think?
* * * * *
She found him the first time, as she would find him often after, standing still as the sea parted around him. She wasn’t directed; just carried along, looking for a place to drift to a stop. Her grouping had fallen apart, with five of them announcing that they had joined the Beautifuls collective. Three people were not enough to hold a compartment, so she had bid farewell to her two remaining friends and they had separated, seeking what they could find.
She had never seen anyone stand against the current like that. His eyes were closed and his arms hung at his sides, fingers flared, brushing up against the throng moving past him. He was a lighthouse, a beacon. She slowed, describing an arc against the current as people shifted to avoid her new direction.
She came to a halt before him, and his eyes floated open. The soft noises of the crush receded as they regarded each other. Then she unmoored, drifted to the side, and rejoined the current, the back of her hand brushing the back of his as she went. For many moments afterwards, he held his hand up before him, looking at it, trying to figure out how he could feel so burned by her touch, yet see no effect at all.
She spent the night in the corner of a corridor, lulled to sleep by the padding footsteps of the multitude.
She found him the second time with his eyes open, in the Commons, watching a Vore flash-orgy with a combination of bewilderment and disgust and envy. This tribe of Vores were all bald and overly plump, making it difficult to tell which were male and which were female, but that didn’t seem to dismay any of them. She watched him watching them, turning his head and narrowing his pale eyes, frowning as he tried to decipher positions and associate gender. When he leaned forward to get a better view of a particularly peculiar act, she laughed in spite of herself.
He stood up, sheepishly running his hands through his hair.
“Sometimes, I can’t tell...”
“Where one ends and the next starts,” she finished for him. “I know.”
“Especially when they’re so...” he waited for it.
“Puffy.” She laughed again. He grinned at her.
“I’m Ren. And you’re the girl from the other day.”
“Neerya. Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Stand in the way.”
He shook his head. “I’m not in the way, any more than a rock would be in the way of a stream.” Neerya hadn’t heard those words since playschool. Ren sighed, seeing the incomprehension in her eyes.
“It makes me feel connected. Like I’m the center of the Ark, and everyone is moving around me.” He looked at her. “You should try it some time.”
That night, the corner was occupied. She wandered the corridors for a while, dodging Vores who hadn’t been satiated by the mob earlier. Eventually, she found herself in an older corridor, not as wide as the others. She stood and closed her eyes and let the current sweep over her.
She found him the third time in one of the cafeterias. She brushed his shoulder as she sat, and he nodded wordlessly. The viand was as it always was, tasteless and soft, but she found that, sitting beside him, it seemed more substantial, as if he was lending it weight.
“Where do you sleep,” he asked her. She shrugged.
“Here and there.”
“My sister’s partner just left. You could come stay with us.”
“I’m not really looking to get into another large compartment.”
“Oh, we only have four.”
She leaned forward, excited. “You have a foursome compartment?”
He nodded. “We’ve been careful to never get below three. We’re three now, you would make four. But if you don’t want it, tell me now. We can’t wait.”
She nodded. That night, she laid awake on the floor of her new home, listening to the noises him and his sister and the third one made as they slept. As with every other place in the Ark, she was being touched, but in deference to her newness, she was given an end spot -- against the wall on her right, and Ren’s warm arm and leg on her left.
He was becoming her anchor, and she swung in arcs around him, eventually coming to rest, connected, whole.
She found him the fourth time in her heart and in his arms.
* * * * *
She found him the first time, as she would find him often after, standing still as the sea parted around him. She wasn’t directed; just carried along, looking for a place to drift to a stop. Her grouping had fallen apart, with five of them announcing that they had joined the Beautifuls collective. Three people were not enough to hold a compartment, so she had bid farewell to her two remaining friends and they had separated, seeking what they could find.
She had never seen anyone stand against the current like that. His eyes were closed and his arms hung at his sides, fingers flared, brushing up against the throng moving past him. He was a lighthouse, a beacon. She slowed, describing an arc against the current as people shifted to avoid her new direction.
She came to a halt before him, and his eyes floated open. The soft noises of the crush receded as they regarded each other. Then she unmoored, drifted to the side, and rejoined the current, the back of her hand brushing the back of his as she went. For many moments afterwards, he held his hand up before him, looking at it, trying to figure out how he could feel so burned by her touch, yet see no effect at all.
She spent the night in the corner of a corridor, lulled to sleep by the padding footsteps of the multitude.
She found him the second time with his eyes open, in the Commons, watching a Vore flash-orgy with a combination of bewilderment and disgust and envy. This tribe of Vores were all bald and overly plump, making it difficult to tell which were male and which were female, but that didn’t seem to dismay any of them. She watched him watching them, turning his head and narrowing his pale eyes, frowning as he tried to decipher positions and associate gender. When he leaned forward to get a better view of a particularly peculiar act, she laughed in spite of herself.
He stood up, sheepishly running his hands through his hair.
“Sometimes, I can’t tell...”
“Where one ends and the next starts,” she finished for him. “I know.”
“Especially when they’re so...” he waited for it.
“Puffy.” She laughed again. He grinned at her.
“I’m Ren. And you’re the girl from the other day.”
“Neerya. Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Stand in the way.”
He shook his head. “I’m not in the way, any more than a rock would be in the way of a stream.” Neerya hadn’t heard those words since playschool. Ren sighed, seeing the incomprehension in her eyes.
“It makes me feel connected. Like I’m the center of the Ark, and everyone is moving around me.” He looked at her. “You should try it some time.”
That night, the corner was occupied. She wandered the corridors for a while, dodging Vores who hadn’t been satiated by the mob earlier. Eventually, she found herself in an older corridor, not as wide as the others. She stood and closed her eyes and let the current sweep over her.
She found him the third time in one of the cafeterias. She brushed his shoulder as she sat, and he nodded wordlessly. The viand was as it always was, tasteless and soft, but she found that, sitting beside him, it seemed more substantial, as if he was lending it weight.
“Where do you sleep,” he asked her. She shrugged.
“Here and there.”
“My sister’s partner just left. You could come stay with us.”
“I’m not really looking to get into another large compartment.”
“Oh, we only have four.”
She leaned forward, excited. “You have a foursome compartment?”
He nodded. “We’ve been careful to never get below three. We’re three now, you would make four. But if you don’t want it, tell me now. We can’t wait.”
She nodded. That night, she laid awake on the floor of her new home, listening to the noises him and his sister and the third one made as they slept. As with every other place in the Ark, she was being touched, but in deference to her newness, she was given an end spot -- against the wall on her right, and Ren’s warm arm and leg on her left.
He was becoming her anchor, and she swung in arcs around him, eventually coming to rest, connected, whole.
She found him the fourth time in her heart and in his arms.
20 June, 2012
A Tale of the LongEars and the CurlyHorn
Back in the old days, this was, when the world was new, and old man Adam hadn’t gotten around to naming all of the animals. The ones that were named surely did lord it over the ones that wasn't, who were simply known by their most distinctive characteristic.
Two of these animals was the Longears and the Curlyhorn. The Longears had a pink nose and strong back legs, and the Curlyhorn had a thick coat of wool. Both was as placid as another, larger animal, the recently named… cow.
This is the story of how the Longears and the Curlyhorn got their names.
As it happened, old man Adam was behind on his naming schedule. He’d named Twistneck the “owl”, and Howler the “wolf”, and Long-thing-hanging-down-between-the-legs the… “elephant”. But next on his list was Longears and Curlyhorn.
Try as he might, tho he wracked his brains for days and nights, pacing, and staring into space… he couldn’t come up with names. And the cold breeze of winter was swift approaching, and Old Man Adam was gitten a mite chilly.
Of course, back then, animals could talk – in fact, you could hardly get ‘em to shut up sometimes – so Curlyhorn said “Why aaaaaare you cold, maaaaan Aaaaaadam?”
“I know!” Piped up Longears. “Man Adam has no real fur.”
“That’s true,” Old Man Adam agreed. “Perhaps you could give me your fur, um… hrm… Jumper? No, that’s not a good name.”
“I am too small to give you my fur,” said Longear. “But Curlyhorn has lots of fur!”
“Indeed he does!” said Old Man Adam. And before Curlyhorn could protest with a “waaaaaait,” Old Man Adam had sharpened a stone and was advancing upon him.
“Nooooo! Stooooop!” Curlyhair cried, and tried to run, but Old Man Adam was spry, and caught him up before long.
“Hold still” Old Man Adam insisted, struggling to keep his grip. Eventually, Curlyhair relented, and lay down, and Old Man Adam drew his sharpened stone across Curlyhorn’s back, scraping off the fur. Shhhhhhhp! Shhhhhhp! The stone went.
Soon Old Man Adam had most of Curlyhorn’s full curly coat belted around him, and he looked down at Curlyhorn with an appraising eye.
“Curlyhorn,” declared Old Man Adam, “I do believe I have a name for you. The sound that the stone made on your back, taking off the fur that you gave to me to wear. Shhhhhp. Shhhhhhp. Sheep.”
“Thaaaaank you, Ooooold Maaaaaan Aaaaaadam,” Sheep shivered.
And then, Sheep became the one animal that helped to name another on, for Old Man Adam had worked hard shearing his coat.
“I’m hungry,” Old Man Adam complained.
Sheep raised on shivering hoof, pointed it at Longears and yelled:
“GRAAAABIT!”
The moral of the story? When it comes to keeping humans warm, the Sheep is involved… but the Rabbit is COMMITED.
(c) 2012 Drew Nicholson
Fertile Ground
I wrote this about a year ago. In between my first marriage and my second one, I had a torrid, passionate, flame-out affair that sometimes still stuns me with the level of ferocity and pain it enabled.
When I think about how we could have been
how we should have been
I realize instead how we would have been
Five years on
the pain has dulled
the confusion diminished
but every so often
something will remind me
of you or us
and the recriminations
and the what-ifs
and the whys
spill to the surface again
an underground spring
flooding a desert
until, thinking of how we could have been
how we should have been
leads to realizing how we would have been
And the desert drains
leaving behind fertile ground
for a new life
to be lived.
When I think about how we could have been
how we should have been
I realize instead how we would have been
Five years on
the pain has dulled
the confusion diminished
but every so often
something will remind me
of you or us
and the recriminations
and the what-ifs
and the whys
spill to the surface again
an underground spring
flooding a desert
until, thinking of how we could have been
how we should have been
leads to realizing how we would have been
And the desert drains
leaving behind fertile ground
for a new life
to be lived.
(c) 2012 Drew Nicholson
19 June, 2012
Link Dump! Writing Tips for All of Us
Writing and Creative Writing are two of the topics on this application I have on my iPad and my Android phone called "Zite". It's a news/site aggregator that works off of your selections and also your Google Reader feed, if you have one. I've saved up some of the better links about writing that I've found, and here they are.
Ray Bradbury's Seven Rules for Writers. A lot of people have posted about Ray Bradbury, who, of course, just died a few weeks ago. I loved his short stories, especially "Fire and Ice". The rule I find most difficult to do is rule 5 -- feed the muse daily. I'm not the only writer who has a full-time job, and I'm sure everyone else finds it as difficult as I do.
Writing Conflict. I'm still absorbing this one, but I like her ideas on how to keep the conflict reasonable, and yet still generate tension.
Writing in the First Person. Interestingly, I don't feel like writing in the first person is difficult -- in fact, I find it harder to write in the third person, to the point where I wrote a short story where at least four separate people took turns being the first-person narrator. However, for those that do, this article gives some good techniques for not falling into the "and then I did" and "I thought", etc. (Hint -- it's a lot like writing in third person, which makes me think that I'm a wuss for not doing it.)
20 Tips to Sharpen Your Writing. Finally, a tally sheet of tips designed to help writers draw readers in, and keep them reading. I'm working on #3, and I do #9 all too often! While it feels aimed at non-fiction writers, there's definitely stuff in there that's good for us make-believe types too.
Only four links; I don't want to inundate anyone with too much information. Got a good site for tips? Post in the comments!
Ray Bradbury's Seven Rules for Writers. A lot of people have posted about Ray Bradbury, who, of course, just died a few weeks ago. I loved his short stories, especially "Fire and Ice". The rule I find most difficult to do is rule 5 -- feed the muse daily. I'm not the only writer who has a full-time job, and I'm sure everyone else finds it as difficult as I do.
Writing Conflict. I'm still absorbing this one, but I like her ideas on how to keep the conflict reasonable, and yet still generate tension.
Writing in the First Person. Interestingly, I don't feel like writing in the first person is difficult -- in fact, I find it harder to write in the third person, to the point where I wrote a short story where at least four separate people took turns being the first-person narrator. However, for those that do, this article gives some good techniques for not falling into the "and then I did" and "I thought", etc. (Hint -- it's a lot like writing in third person, which makes me think that I'm a wuss for not doing it.)
20 Tips to Sharpen Your Writing. Finally, a tally sheet of tips designed to help writers draw readers in, and keep them reading. I'm working on #3, and I do #9 all too often! While it feels aimed at non-fiction writers, there's definitely stuff in there that's good for us make-believe types too.
Only four links; I don't want to inundate anyone with too much information. Got a good site for tips? Post in the comments!
Characterization
Building Characters is hard. I've got an awesome idea for a story based on the concept of a self-contained space where everything is provided except room to move and grow (physically and mentally) and what happens when the system breaks down... but I have to build compelling characters. The last two pieces I've written, the first character is essentially a cypher, and no one else really exists, and in the other, he's a huge cartoon scrawled across the sky.
So I did an exercise, suggested to me by a fellow writer on G+, which is basically a rudimentary Character sheet. Who, What, Where, When. The Why will follow when you know the other four Ws.
Here is what I got. I'm certainly interested in comments.
---------------------------------------------
Characters:
Narrator (Ren)
1)Who: 27 y/o man
2) What: Trying to keep himself, his sister and his mate safe from harm
3) Where: In Ark25, a contained, self-sufficient but overcrowded environment
4) When: Far in the future (indeterminate)
At 27, Ren is one of the youngest members of Ark 25; people stopped having children almost immediately after his generation. Raised in the overcrowded conditions of the Ark, he has never known true privacy, and is always touching something or someone. Mated with Neerya, he lives in a small compartment with her, his older sister Raane, and Roye. When society falls apart, Ren’s first instincts are to run away, but he fights to get back to his sister and his mate, and tries to take them to the safest place he can think of in the Ark – the Ayrie. The journey there and what he discovers will change everything.
Raane (Ren’s sister)
1)Who: 32 y/o woman
2) What: admiring hers and others’ looks
3) Where: In Ark25, a contained, self-sufficient but overcrowded environment
4) When: Far in the future (indeterminate)
Raane is Ren’s older sister. She’s been slowly drifting away from her family, becoming a “Beautiful”, who is only interested in her looks, and admiring the looks of others. She spends almost all of her time in the Commons, an open area where other Beautifuls have built out a series of stages and platforms upon which they host their myriad mutual admiration societies. When society finally disintegrates, Raane would have been lost if not for the efforts of her brother. Will his willingness to risk everything for her help her change her ways?
Neerya (Ren’s mate)
1)Who: 28 y/o woman
2) What: While older than Ren, Neerya is much less aware of what’s going on in the Ark. What she really wants is a child, but there’s no room, much less facilities for giving birth.
3) Where: In Ark25, a contained, self-sufficient but overcrowded environment
4) When: Far in the future (indeterminate)
Neerya has grown up under the same conditions as Ren and Raane, but she only has eyes for her family. She doesn’t understand the problems with the Beautifuls, Diners or Vores, and doesn’t care: all she cares about is building a family with Ren. What’s standing in her way? Everything. There haven’t been any children born since her own generation was. There’s no room. There’s increasing violence from the Diners. There’s the indifference of the Beautifuls and the Vores. When everything falls apart, she instinctively clings to Ren, but what will happen when she needs to make decisions that affect the whole group?
Roye (4th member of room)
1)Who: Man in his late 30s
2) What: Roye is a cipher.
3) Where: In Ark25, a contained, self-sufficient but overcrowded environment
4) When: Far in the future (indeterminate)
Roye’s not interested in Raane. He doesn’t interact with the group much. Ren invited him to live in the compartment with them specifically because Roye seemed to be someone who would stay out of the way and not be a hassle. But when society breaks down, Roye’s secret will be exposed.
Barno (antagonist)
1)Who: Man in his late 50s
2) What: Trying to prevent what’s coming.
3) Where: In Ark25, a contained, self-sufficient but overcrowded environment
4) When: Far in the future (indeterminate)
Barno plays a crochety old man, but he’s one of the few inhabitants of the Ark who understands what’s happening and what’s about to happen. For some reason, he’s taken an interest in Ren and his little group. He’s angry, he’s difficult, but he’s intelligent and he knows secrets about the Ark that no one else does.
So I did an exercise, suggested to me by a fellow writer on G+, which is basically a rudimentary Character sheet. Who, What, Where, When. The Why will follow when you know the other four Ws.
Here is what I got. I'm certainly interested in comments.
---------------------------------------------
Characters:
Narrator (Ren)
1)Who: 27 y/o man
2) What: Trying to keep himself, his sister and his mate safe from harm
3) Where: In Ark25, a contained, self-sufficient but overcrowded environment
4) When: Far in the future (indeterminate)
At 27, Ren is one of the youngest members of Ark 25; people stopped having children almost immediately after his generation. Raised in the overcrowded conditions of the Ark, he has never known true privacy, and is always touching something or someone. Mated with Neerya, he lives in a small compartment with her, his older sister Raane, and Roye. When society falls apart, Ren’s first instincts are to run away, but he fights to get back to his sister and his mate, and tries to take them to the safest place he can think of in the Ark – the Ayrie. The journey there and what he discovers will change everything.
Raane (Ren’s sister)
1)Who: 32 y/o woman
2) What: admiring hers and others’ looks
3) Where: In Ark25, a contained, self-sufficient but overcrowded environment
4) When: Far in the future (indeterminate)
Raane is Ren’s older sister. She’s been slowly drifting away from her family, becoming a “Beautiful”, who is only interested in her looks, and admiring the looks of others. She spends almost all of her time in the Commons, an open area where other Beautifuls have built out a series of stages and platforms upon which they host their myriad mutual admiration societies. When society finally disintegrates, Raane would have been lost if not for the efforts of her brother. Will his willingness to risk everything for her help her change her ways?
Neerya (Ren’s mate)
1)Who: 28 y/o woman
2) What: While older than Ren, Neerya is much less aware of what’s going on in the Ark. What she really wants is a child, but there’s no room, much less facilities for giving birth.
3) Where: In Ark25, a contained, self-sufficient but overcrowded environment
4) When: Far in the future (indeterminate)
Neerya has grown up under the same conditions as Ren and Raane, but she only has eyes for her family. She doesn’t understand the problems with the Beautifuls, Diners or Vores, and doesn’t care: all she cares about is building a family with Ren. What’s standing in her way? Everything. There haven’t been any children born since her own generation was. There’s no room. There’s increasing violence from the Diners. There’s the indifference of the Beautifuls and the Vores. When everything falls apart, she instinctively clings to Ren, but what will happen when she needs to make decisions that affect the whole group?
Roye (4th member of room)
1)Who: Man in his late 30s
2) What: Roye is a cipher.
3) Where: In Ark25, a contained, self-sufficient but overcrowded environment
4) When: Far in the future (indeterminate)
Roye’s not interested in Raane. He doesn’t interact with the group much. Ren invited him to live in the compartment with them specifically because Roye seemed to be someone who would stay out of the way and not be a hassle. But when society breaks down, Roye’s secret will be exposed.
Barno (antagonist)
1)Who: Man in his late 50s
2) What: Trying to prevent what’s coming.
3) Where: In Ark25, a contained, self-sufficient but overcrowded environment
4) When: Far in the future (indeterminate)
Barno plays a crochety old man, but he’s one of the few inhabitants of the Ark who understands what’s happening and what’s about to happen. For some reason, he’s taken an interest in Ren and his little group. He’s angry, he’s difficult, but he’s intelligent and he knows secrets about the Ark that no one else does.
16 June, 2012
Review: Stars Rain Down
I got this book from the free kindle books email I get every day. I liked this book. I'm big on space opera and this is very opera. Warring races in distant star systems, Earth gets wiped out, some good tech speak, and fairly good characterization. Where this book falls down, unfortunately, is in the execution.
Like many books of this nature, it hopes from place to place, telling several different stories related to the overall plot, slowly bringing them all together. There's Sinit, the alien, Jack the soldier on earth fighting the invasion, Marcus the brilliant scientist who makes the discovery that could save the world, and Sal, the engineer who puts Marcus' ideas into action. For a while, all the stories are told roughly equally, as we build towards the climax, but just when you think that everything is going to come together, the author chooses to focus on one character to the exclusion of the others, and then rushes the ending in addition, which left me, at least, saying "hey, wait, it's over?"
So how good can a book be when you don't stick the landing? Well, as good as it can be, I guess. Were I giving it a rating of a number of stars, I might go for here out of five.
I liked the book; I wanted to love it. I don't love it. Bit it was fun enough.
Stars Rain Down, by Chris Randolph.
Rating: 3/5 Stars
Like many books of this nature, it hopes from place to place, telling several different stories related to the overall plot, slowly bringing them all together. There's Sinit, the alien, Jack the soldier on earth fighting the invasion, Marcus the brilliant scientist who makes the discovery that could save the world, and Sal, the engineer who puts Marcus' ideas into action. For a while, all the stories are told roughly equally, as we build towards the climax, but just when you think that everything is going to come together, the author chooses to focus on one character to the exclusion of the others, and then rushes the ending in addition, which left me, at least, saying "hey, wait, it's over?"
So how good can a book be when you don't stick the landing? Well, as good as it can be, I guess. Were I giving it a rating of a number of stars, I might go for here out of five.
I liked the book; I wanted to love it. I don't love it. Bit it was fun enough.
Stars Rain Down, by Chris Randolph.
Rating: 3/5 Stars
15 June, 2012
The Tall Grass
The tall grass makes the dog feel young.
She mostly sleeps,
In the sun when she can find it
And inconveniently in the bed,
And on the couch,
(These days ignorant of the post man and other suspicious interlopers).
Her stumpy legs twitch
And she whines a descant
Hunting dream demon squirrels
In canine valhalla,
Tonight they'll store their nuts in hell.
But come walk about time
She's off like a bullet
Blurring into the tall grass
Where she bounds
And runs
And stops so short any holding her leash
Would lose their balance, if kept they going
Against the Anchor of Sirius, nineteen pounds of pure halt.
And every so often
She'll forget that the sidewalk awaits
And bounds happily into view
Then stops
Short
And turns to look at me, as if to say
"Not in front of the children"
And primly walks to the door
That she pushes open herself, thank you
To return
To her gainful
Employment
With the Department Of Slumber.
(c) 2012 Drew Nicholson
She mostly sleeps,
In the sun when she can find it
And inconveniently in the bed,
And on the couch,
(These days ignorant of the post man and other suspicious interlopers).
Her stumpy legs twitch
And she whines a descant
Hunting dream demon squirrels
In canine valhalla,
Tonight they'll store their nuts in hell.
But come walk about time
She's off like a bullet
Blurring into the tall grass
Where she bounds
And runs
And stops so short any holding her leash
Would lose their balance, if kept they going
Against the Anchor of Sirius, nineteen pounds of pure halt.
And every so often
She'll forget that the sidewalk awaits
And bounds happily into view
Then stops
Short
And turns to look at me, as if to say
"Not in front of the children"
And primly walks to the door
That she pushes open herself, thank you
To return
To her gainful
Employment
With the Department Of Slumber.
(c) 2012 Drew Nicholson
On the Subject of Independent Author Payments
So I haven't started to move any of my work over, but I thought that this was a very interesting and potentially relevant to the interests of many writers.
Amazon's huge Indie Author Markup. Basically, Amazon is taking nearly 50% of the cost of an independent author's ebook sales, as shown here:
The Nook cut is almost as bad, but the Nook market isn't nearly as huge.
People new to me will swiftly learn my political proclivities, although I don't plan on using this space for that kind of content; in this case, Amazon is the 1% and Indie Writers are the 99%.
Luckily, while we can't change economies on a dime, you CAN change where you make your ebooks available, and still self-promote the heck out of your work. The author here details the alternative sites he's using. The only one I have any experience with at all is Smashwords, which he doesn't appear to use, but the processes can't be all THAT different.
So, don't get shafted by Amazon; make the decision to affect your personal economy, and like so many did with GoDaddy over SOPA/PIPA, divest yourself of companies working against your best interests today.
What alternative e-book publishers are you using, and what's your experience with them? The comments are open.
Amazon's huge Indie Author Markup. Basically, Amazon is taking nearly 50% of the cost of an independent author's ebook sales, as shown here:
The Nook cut is almost as bad, but the Nook market isn't nearly as huge.
People new to me will swiftly learn my political proclivities, although I don't plan on using this space for that kind of content; in this case, Amazon is the 1% and Indie Writers are the 99%.
Luckily, while we can't change economies on a dime, you CAN change where you make your ebooks available, and still self-promote the heck out of your work. The author here details the alternative sites he's using. The only one I have any experience with at all is Smashwords, which he doesn't appear to use, but the processes can't be all THAT different.
So, don't get shafted by Amazon; make the decision to affect your personal economy, and like so many did with GoDaddy over SOPA/PIPA, divest yourself of companies working against your best interests today.
What alternative e-book publishers are you using, and what's your experience with them? The comments are open.
14 June, 2012
a First post
So this is a somewhat more permanent and open place for me to put my finished poetry and stories, I think. Not so personal (and barren) as LiveJournal, but less transient and less easy to miss than G+ or Facebook. Who knows what could happen with writing that I actually edit.
Tomorrow, I will move existing work here, and try to write something new. For tonight, it is perhaps enough to have taken this first step.
Tomorrow, I will move existing work here, and try to write something new. For tonight, it is perhaps enough to have taken this first step.
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