The Aspiring Bard

It has just occurred to me that God of Wind and Fire has come a long way from its original purpose as a fun, swashbuckling frolic of a break from my 'serious writing'. I've already got a blood feud, a battle, and slavery...and I'm only on chapter 12. My main concern now is how to handle these very real but also fairly dark themes in a way that won't cause unnecessary trauma to potential readers. I have no wish to wallow about in darkness, but I have realized that, especially in the context of this book, it is necessary to be honest about what darkness does to people, both on individual and societal levels. We can't get properly excited about Light until we have some idea of the depths of the darkness from which the Light sets us free. That being said, I'm very excited to finally be getting to the place in God of Wind and Fire where I can begin writing the story of one of the book's agents of Light. The people walking in darkness have seen a gre...

I promised, way back in July,  that I would begin introducing you to more of my characters. Even though she didn't feature in the original list, Carrie requested some more information about Bayarmaa, from God of Wind and Fire . Because I woke up insanely early on a Sunday morning and didn't feel like doing much else, I wrote out this little dialogue exchange for her. source "I found him by the shore." Bayarmaa bent gracefully and dipped up a bowlful of stew. "And?" She passed the dripping bowl. "And the grey rain was falling and the late sun gleamed through a cloud-rift and shone around him." "He is very sick." Ganbold observed. "He is strong." "And Father says he will stay?" "Would you turn a stranger from the hearth?" Ganbold's jaw knotted. "No..." "Is the food to your liking?" She inquired, sweetly. "What makes you frown so?" "I wonder only what change...

Two quick-tempered characters constantly locking horns. An intriguing new guy who seems to have popped out of nowhere. Plus a war. And debating whether my dialogue is too antiquated. That has been my writing for the month of October. God of Wind and Fire is living up to its rather volatile name.   -- The women saw them off in the dark of morning with subdued farewells and a scattering of milk spread on the wind as a blessing. -- Source -- She stood over him, watching the fire-shadows flicker across his face. The three days’ stubble on his chin shone golden in the light and he looked almost boyish, she thought. Almost as he had when the stubble first started and he’d boasted to her of his manhood. Altan smiled, and bent to drape her own cloak around him. She added fuel to the fire and banked it up against the chill of the night. -- He raised the bowl of kumis in a salute to Altan and sipped before presenting her with the rest. “Another time.” He sa...

Well, well, I think it's time to introduce some more characters. I swiped the following questions from Paper Fury's monthly Beautiful People link-up. Though I wouldn't go so far as to call either Altan or Baatar beautiful, I thought the questions might suit them reasonably well. Source Source 1. How long have they known each other, and how close are they?  Being siblings, I suppose they have known each other as long as they've been old enough to know anything. Baatar and Altan watched the exchange in surprise and, understanding none of it, shared their silent questions with a glance. Baatar, always the better judge of mood, gave a small shake of his head in reply to Altan’s lifted eyebrow. The question was best left unspoken for the present. 2. What's their earliest memory of being best friends? Personally, I believe it was the first time Altan leaped, headfirst, into a fight, and found Baatar's strong back set firmly ag...

Well, well, look who's finally returned to her dusty little blog!  In my defense (if I actually need one), I have been quite sick over the past few weeks, and haven't accomplished much besides lying about or trying to coax food into my stomach. I haven't forgotten about my promise of character introductions. I'm just a trifle late on the delivery.  Several of you fine folks expressed an interest in Thatch, and since he is one of my favorite characters to write, I decided to start by have a coffee and a chat with him. It was near-death by sarcasm, I can tell you, and I certainly hope you all appreciate the pains I went through to bring you this very exclusive interview. Thatch squints over my shoulder. "Is that actually supposed to be me?" He asks. "It was the best thing I could find." I say. "And I forgot my camera today, so..." I don't want to tell him my original thought: that the man in the photo is far too clea...

July has been a good month for almost everything except writing. So, instead of trying to pull out a Bits & Snatches post from the scrawny bits of writing I have accomplished, I thought I'd introduce you to some characters from my two novels-in-progress...and give you a chance to better the acquaintance by letting me know which ones you'd like to hear more about. They're all a bit unruly, and some are rough around the edges and decidedly hard to like. But if you find yourself loving (or disliking) one more than the others, please let me know in the comments.  Then come back throughout the month for some fun character interviews and (who knows) maybe even a short story or two. Clemency Haunted by memories, hunted by nightmares come to life, Janus flees into a world of plots and secrets where her faith - and her sanity - are put to the test. - Janus Moore - I felt a hysterical giggle welling up inside of me. Unable to control it, I collapsed agai...

“Well, an’ haven’t you got the nerve! Showin’ up like this after betrayin’ the lot of us!” -- Source -- I gingerly eased my shoulders back and forth as I searched for a proper simile. “I feel as though I’ve been run over by a train - a long one - and then maybe drug behind it, just for...laughs.” “What did they do to you?” He asked suddenly, as if the question had been wrenched out, unawares. -- “But. .. but...you were a lad. And...now ‘tis a skirt you’re wearin’?” Thatch laughed. “Well, Janus, you do get about!" -- Thatch shifted his knapsack to his back, then offered me his left arm in a gallant gesture. We proceeded out of the shadowy alley and into the rectangles of light glowing from the windows and doors of pubs and bawdy houses. There had been few people in the back streets, but now the way was full of passers-by and loiterers, all seemingly in various stages of intoxication. “These sailor men certainly do take advantage of thei...

The results of semi-industrious writing during the month of May...in which my poor main character gets stuffed into yet another tiny space. Enjoy! -- “Well, to be perfectly honest, ‘twas your cooking. I pictured to myself the long days of slow starvation. The burnt eggs, the flapjacks, the general blackness of it all.” -- -- [ He ] was handsome in an ordinary way, with features that were good, but not remarkable. He was small and slight, with hazel eyes and long-fingered hands that were both in constant, restless motion; an entirely forgettable man who seemed slightly anxious not to be forgotten. -- “So this is the stuff of legend.” The man commented. Thatch shifted a non-committal shoulder. “More or less.” -- “So we stay with the plan?” I frowned, remembering how sternly Thatch had insisted that I let him do all the talking, at least at first. He shrugged. “Let’s just hope that our enemy’s enemy actually is our friend. And, yes, I see no reason ...

There were 5 people (5 whole people) who were good enough to show interest in the snippet of my novel-in-progress that I posted a couple of weeks ago. I know, I know, that sounds a bit pitiful, doesn't it? But those 5 people are 5 more than have been interested before. And for a writer as unassuming as myself, that level of interest is enormous. It means that, maybe, there are even more (non-relative) folks out there who could possibly care about the people and the worlds and the stories into which I've poured my creativity and prayers and energies. And that is an encouraging thought. I have reached a point where I write mainly for an audience of two: God, and myself. And I am well pleased as long as I know that I'm consistently pushing towards fulfillment of His standards and the increase of my own ability. But still, appreciation from other human beings is rather nice, and of course, the day will come when I'll no longer be able to increase my abilities on my ...

I must admit that I'm a thoroughly timorous novelist, and though I've let out a few dark hints about my (untitled) 'work in progress', no-one except my younger brother has read more than a few words of the thing. But when I saw that this month's Chatterbox theme was 'Travel by Foot', I realized that it would be a perfect fit for sharing a bit of my novel, since the main character spends a rather large portion of the first bit wandering about the countryside. I'm going to hold myself back from reminding you that this is a first draft and that I'm going to do a lot of re-writing and blah and blah and blah, and just go ahead and share the thing, because really, I think it's time to let someone besides my brother in on this. - Wayfarers - source I splashed water over my head and neck, then turned my attention to my aching feet, wincing as I carefully removed my boots and socks. The long days of travel in ill-fitting shoes had wreak...