My apologies! I forgot to put up my entry for the Milestone Blogfest, which officially took place on Saturday.
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Donna Hole is hosting a Milestone Blogfest today. You can pick anything you like that represents a milestone for your characters. I chose Faldur and Marenya's first kiss.
I'm not really into kissing scenes, so this was tough for me to write. They are at an all-night feast. It is tradition to stay up until the sunrise, but she is too tired from dancing and has fallen asleep against his shoulder.
(PS I'm still working on this, so consider your internal editor duly warned.)
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Faldur listened to Marenya’s breathing as she fell asleep. When her head began to droop, he eased it onto his lap. She looked more like a child in her sleep, more as he remembered her always being. In the quiet coolness, the memory of his close call with the nightstalker came pressing back on him. It was always that way. No matter how hard he tried to forget, the moments played themselves over and over in his mind, robbing him of both peace and sleep. He closed his eyes and behind the lids saw the lion gathered to pounce, felt its blood on his face, the crushing pressure. He couldn’t breathe. He was helpless, pinned.
He opened his eyes again and shook his head like a dog shaking off water. He must not fall asleep, for then he might dream and cry out. He didn’t want to explain, didn’t want Marenya to know all that took place outside these walls.
At last he saw through the doorway that the first pink light had begun to seep across the sky. The other guests stretched and stirred, moving outside. He waited as long as he dared, then shook Marenya’s shoulder.
“Is it morning?” She sat up abruptly and blinked.
“Yes. Everyone’s gone outside.”
They walked out into the cold stillness of the garden, and up the steps to the wall. She shivered, and he wrapped his arms around her, for he had forgotten to fetch their cloaks. Below them everything was sparkling with snow and a pinkish golden light, clean and new and perfect like the first morning ever dawned.
The first edge of the sun’s bright disk appeared above the trees. Mel began to sing the song of the morning, his voice clear and strong.
Now the morning sun has woken
Its warm rays the earth caress
Other voices joined his.
Night is gone, the day is broken
Gone all shadows and distress
Something stirred in Faldur that he hadn’t felt in ages. It had been so long since he had known anything but the company of other Rangers, the cramped, smoky barracks, bad weather, worse food, watchfulness and danger, that he had nearly forgotten what it was like to be an ordinary hanor. This night had lifted the lid of a box long-closed and he was helpless to shut it again.
Mountain, river, field and forest
Their true colors glowing bright
Marenya was in his arms – soft, warm and still a little drowsy. They were standing behind everyone else. No one was looking at them. He bent his head down to hers and she looked up in surprise. He kissed her, their breath mingling in the frosty air. At first she froze, startled, but then responded with a sweetness that made the earth tilt strangely beneath him.
Light of Heaven, shine before us
Showing hope, and truth, and right
When they drew apart at last, she gazed into his eyes with the same devotion he had seen in Pelwyn’s face when she looked at Mel.
All at once, Faldur realized what he had done, and cursed himself.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Writing Who You Know
I'm having a fantastic time with my online writing course. This is truly the best hundred bucks I could have spent on my writing. So far we have covered story structure, plot templates (which is a lot more inocuous than it sounds), and character development. The assignments are short and sweet and I have been using my
WIP for all of them. If anyone wants information on it, I will be glad to give it to you.
However, one of the things that has prompted electric shivers in my spine (or is that just a pinched nerve from sitting at the computer too long?) is the idea of "Writing who you know."
Although I understand the benefit of finding authenticity by drawing on what you observe in real life, I also have to say that none of the characters in my WIP are anything like anyone I know. They are purely fictional, and yet are so real to me that I almost expect to meet them one day. I was writing a contemporary story several years ago, set in a place we often visit, and I had the oddest feeling when I went there one day that I would see her restaurant on the street corner where I had placed it. I was actually a little upset, if you can believe it, that it wasn't there.
Because in my mind, it's there!
I really don't know where my characters come from. It's a mysterious thing, almost eerie. But they are there, in my head, nonetheless.
WIP for all of them. If anyone wants information on it, I will be glad to give it to you.
However, one of the things that has prompted electric shivers in my spine (or is that just a pinched nerve from sitting at the computer too long?) is the idea of "Writing who you know."
Although I understand the benefit of finding authenticity by drawing on what you observe in real life, I also have to say that none of the characters in my WIP are anything like anyone I know. They are purely fictional, and yet are so real to me that I almost expect to meet them one day. I was writing a contemporary story several years ago, set in a place we often visit, and I had the oddest feeling when I went there one day that I would see her restaurant on the street corner where I had placed it. I was actually a little upset, if you can believe it, that it wasn't there.
Because in my mind, it's there!
I really don't know where my characters come from. It's a mysterious thing, almost eerie. But they are there, in my head, nonetheless.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
A Special Personal Note
Although I keep this blog for writing stuff, I also have a personal blog called Christine's Cottage. Please check out this very special post: Ninety Nine Candles.
In Which I Become A Convert
Okay, I have to admit that I'm starting to become converted to the whole plot structure idea. I'm still doubtful whether I could come up with a complete "three act story" prior to writing, but it does help identify the key points to emphasize. I'm already finding things to strengthen. Today I'm working on identifying the emotional storylines for both protagonists, and separating the main adventure plot from the romantic subplot.
So, um... it uh... kind of looks like *cough* I may have been wrong to disdain outlining.
A lot of the credit goes to my instructor, Steve Alcorn, for presenting the material in a logical, simple way that I could actually understand.
So, um... it uh... kind of looks like *cough* I may have been wrong to disdain outlining.
A lot of the credit goes to my instructor, Steve Alcorn, for presenting the material in a logical, simple way that I could actually understand.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
In Which I Bite the Bullet
After my rant this morning, and a discussion with hubby, I signed up for the writing course. It's offered through our local college and is only $95 for a six-week, 12-lesson course. Today was the first day of the current session, so I just squeaked in under the registration deadline.
Time to bite the bullet - an expression used in regards to something extremely painful. Biting down on a bullet was a way to release pain in the Old West, while they were digging another one out of your shoulder, for example. The first lesson was a rehash of a previous course on story structure and what not. I'm glad I skipped that course because it had to do with Outlining, Premise and The Three Act Structure. It suggested starting with a theme and developing a premise and plot from there.
Urg.
I need wine.
I can't plan a story in a vacuum or decide ahead of time what will happen. My mind just doesn't work that way. I start out with some characters, put them in a setting and let them start interacting. All that other stuff grows from there. But, I got 100% on the quiz, which was all I needed. I'm looking forward to learning about Dialogue, Scene Structure, Viewpoint, Setting and the like. The course does seem to be very well set up and the lessons are clearly written and easy to follow.
Deep down, of course, I'm hoping that the course will simply confirm that I already intuitively know everything. Because I'm an Abstract Sequential learner and that's just the way I roll.
Yeah, right.
Time to bite the bullet - an expression used in regards to something extremely painful. Biting down on a bullet was a way to release pain in the Old West, while they were digging another one out of your shoulder, for example. The first lesson was a rehash of a previous course on story structure and what not. I'm glad I skipped that course because it had to do with Outlining, Premise and The Three Act Structure. It suggested starting with a theme and developing a premise and plot from there.
Urg.
I need wine.
I can't plan a story in a vacuum or decide ahead of time what will happen. My mind just doesn't work that way. I start out with some characters, put them in a setting and let them start interacting. All that other stuff grows from there. But, I got 100% on the quiz, which was all I needed. I'm looking forward to learning about Dialogue, Scene Structure, Viewpoint, Setting and the like. The course does seem to be very well set up and the lessons are clearly written and easy to follow.
Deep down, of course, I'm hoping that the course will simply confirm that I already intuitively know everything. Because I'm an Abstract Sequential learner and that's just the way I roll.
Yeah, right.
The Aspirants Dilemma
Urg. This is one of those mornings when I feel like crawling far, far into my little dark hole and not coming out until Spring.
Natalie Whipple has a post up at "Between Fact and Fiction" about Honing Talent. She talks about the difference between dabbling and really learning your craft. At one point she says:
"It wasn't until I sought real, technical training that I improved. It wasn't until I treated my story like a potential masterpiece that it got better. It wasn't until I trained under a few "masters" that I really started to understand this story-telling business."
Now, in case you don't know who Natalie Whipple is, she is the mom who wowed Nathan Bransford with the first paragraph of her YA novel "Relax, I'm a Ninja" in his 2008 contest and ended up being represented by him, to the great envy of all his other followers. She currently has two debut novels in the works.
Anyway, I totally understand what Natalie is saying about training. I have looked at several writing courses over the years, some for college credit costing as much as a thousand bucks, some much more affordable. I have never been to a writer's conference, but would love to go to one. I kind of want to wait, however, until I have a manuscript to sell. Otherwise, I don't see how I could justify the expense.
Training costs money. As it should. To learn from the experience of another, more successful craftsman is a time-honored method of paying ones dues, both literally and figuratively. I wish very much for that experience.
But... it's not happening any time soon. Which makes me wonder, yet again, if I'm just wasting my time trying to write without it. As Natalie says, "Just writing—just getting those words on the paper—isn't quite enough. I wrote a lot of books that are basically at the same crappy level."
This is why I haven't rushed to finish this novel I've been working on for the past three years. I don't want it to be crappy. But figuring things out on my own takes an awfully long time.
Some questions for you:
What courses, if any, have you taken? How valuable do you think they were? And what experiences do you think improved your writing the most?
Natalie Whipple has a post up at "Between Fact and Fiction" about Honing Talent. She talks about the difference between dabbling and really learning your craft. At one point she says:
"It wasn't until I sought real, technical training that I improved. It wasn't until I treated my story like a potential masterpiece that it got better. It wasn't until I trained under a few "masters" that I really started to understand this story-telling business."
Now, in case you don't know who Natalie Whipple is, she is the mom who wowed Nathan Bransford with the first paragraph of her YA novel "Relax, I'm a Ninja" in his 2008 contest and ended up being represented by him, to the great envy of all his other followers. She currently has two debut novels in the works.
Anyway, I totally understand what Natalie is saying about training. I have looked at several writing courses over the years, some for college credit costing as much as a thousand bucks, some much more affordable. I have never been to a writer's conference, but would love to go to one. I kind of want to wait, however, until I have a manuscript to sell. Otherwise, I don't see how I could justify the expense.
Training costs money. As it should. To learn from the experience of another, more successful craftsman is a time-honored method of paying ones dues, both literally and figuratively. I wish very much for that experience.
But... it's not happening any time soon. Which makes me wonder, yet again, if I'm just wasting my time trying to write without it. As Natalie says, "Just writing—just getting those words on the paper—isn't quite enough. I wrote a lot of books that are basically at the same crappy level."
This is why I haven't rushed to finish this novel I've been working on for the past three years. I don't want it to be crappy. But figuring things out on my own takes an awfully long time.
Some questions for you:
What courses, if any, have you taken? How valuable do you think they were? And what experiences do you think improved your writing the most?
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Blogfest of Death
One of the surprising consequences of writing fantasy fiction is that I have discovered a whole side of my creative self that I never knew existed: The Dark Side Of Christine. I'm writing action scenes, death scenes, scenes of blood and terror. It's not like I'm going to start competing with Stephen King any time soon, but still... it's not what I expected.
The following is one of the key action scenes in the first part of the novel. My goal as an author: eliminate characters so that Faldur and Marenya have to spend some time alone in the forest at night.
Heh.
The Setup:
While traveling to the capital for Pelwyn's wedding to the Prince of Belhanor, our heroes have had to change their course and take to the forest after being attacked on the road. Faldur, a Ranger captain, is trying to get the little group to safety before nightfall. Nightstalkers are renegade lions left over from a civil war in which they were trained to kill soldiers. Now they have a habit of attacking unwary travelers after dark. Dories are a type of animal which the Hanorja ride; they are a kind of combination of pony and goat. Marenya is Pelwyn's cousin, and interested in Faldur. Romer is another Ranger. Gorrith is Pelwyn's younger brother.
(PS I'm still working on this, so consider your internal editor duly warned.)
They rode on while the sun continued to sink, sending only an occasional orange shaft into the deepening dusk. It was farther than he remembered to the place that he wanted to reach. Presently the leafy trees ended, and they found themselves on the edge of a pine wood, dark and thick, the trunks stretching row upon row into the gloom.
Pelwyn said, “Are we going in there?”
“Yes. There is a Ranger camp in a clearing. It’s not far. There is a stream, grazing for the dories, and firewood.”
As they entered the pines, an eerie quiet engulfed them. The thick carpet of needles on the ground absorbed every sound. No shaft of light reached beneath the dense branches, though if the travelers looked straight up they could still see patches of blue sky. The eeriness grew until they were all uneasy. The dories turned their ears in all directions and trotted quickly along the path.
A jay screamed and flew low in front of Marenya’s dory. The dappled mare shied and then stood stock still, trembling. It took a minute for Marenya to soothe her. Faldur thought he could see dark shapes moving stealthily among the trees. The clearing was only about five hundred yards ahead of them. They needed to get to open ground.
“Hurry!” he murmured to Marenya.
She glanced at him as she remounted. “What is it?”
“Just hurry!”
He urged Strider forward as fast as he dared. Then a breeze wafted from the clearing towards them; the dories smelled the grass and surged ahead. Faldur tried to slow them down, not wanting to excite whatever was following them. He feared it was nightstalkers. He glanced back and read in Romer’s face that he had seen them too.
Faldur saw the glimmer of stars overhead as he reached the clearing and drew aside, preparing to let Marenya and Pelwyn ride past him into the open. Then several things happened at once. Romer yelled, “Lions!” Pelwyn screamed and Snowfall bolted past him into the clearing. There was a terrible snarl behind him and a strangled cry. He turned Strider and drew his sword just as an enormous dark shape rushed at him. Strider lowered his great curved horns and rammed his head into the lion’s chest. It swiped at both dory and rider, but being momentarily checked by Strider’s blow, it staggered and missed its mark. Faldur ducked and brought his blade across its throat. It reeled back, making horrible gasping sounds, and fell to the ground.
A second nightstalker attacked him from among the trees. Faldur was knocked from Strider’s back. As he rolled and raised his sword, the lion sank its teeth into his shoulder shaking him back and forth. Pain exploded in his shoulder; he screamed and dropped the sword. Strider rammed the side of the nightstalker’s head and it let go of him to attack the dory, swiping his flank with a great paw. Strider reared and rained blows on the lion’s head with his small, sharp hooves.
Faldur grabbed his knife from his belt with his undamaged arm and struggled to raise himself to his feet.
The nightstalker turned his attention back to the Ranger, letting the dory gallop free into the clearing. It yowled, laid its ears back and surged forward, then suddenly stopped, shrieked, and twisted in pain. As it slashed at something behind it, Faldur rushed forward and drove the knife into its chest. It staggered, its head wagging back and forth. Faldur pulled the knife out and stabbed it in the heart. This time it fell to the ground and didn’t move.
As it fell he saw the gleam of his own sword stuck in its back. Marenya stood wide-eyed with disbelief, one hand clapped against her face, and the other stretched open in front of her where the sword had been wrenched from it.
“Are you alright?” Faldur’s own voice was harsh with pain.
She nodded. He rushed past her to look for the others, holding his right arm against his body and clenching his teeth against the pain in his shoulder. Gorrith lay in the path, his chest covered with blood. He was still holding his dagger, which was stained with blood. Faldur swore loudly and fell to his knees beside him. Gorrith was still breathing but had retreated inside himself, instinctively slowing his heart so as not to bleed to death. There was a good chance he would survive, if they could keep him warm and tend him until he was mended enough to wake. Faldur gently took the dagger from his fingers and laid it aside.
Romer was lying nearby, arms outflung, neck at an awkward angle. Faldur went to him, knowing he was dead before he touched him. Being the rear guard, he had probably been attacked first. They had ridden together nearly every day for the last nine years, but this was not the time to weep.
The following is one of the key action scenes in the first part of the novel. My goal as an author: eliminate characters so that Faldur and Marenya have to spend some time alone in the forest at night.
Heh.
The Setup:
While traveling to the capital for Pelwyn's wedding to the Prince of Belhanor, our heroes have had to change their course and take to the forest after being attacked on the road. Faldur, a Ranger captain, is trying to get the little group to safety before nightfall. Nightstalkers are renegade lions left over from a civil war in which they were trained to kill soldiers. Now they have a habit of attacking unwary travelers after dark. Dories are a type of animal which the Hanorja ride; they are a kind of combination of pony and goat. Marenya is Pelwyn's cousin, and interested in Faldur. Romer is another Ranger. Gorrith is Pelwyn's younger brother.
(PS I'm still working on this, so consider your internal editor duly warned.)
They rode on while the sun continued to sink, sending only an occasional orange shaft into the deepening dusk. It was farther than he remembered to the place that he wanted to reach. Presently the leafy trees ended, and they found themselves on the edge of a pine wood, dark and thick, the trunks stretching row upon row into the gloom.
Pelwyn said, “Are we going in there?”
“Yes. There is a Ranger camp in a clearing. It’s not far. There is a stream, grazing for the dories, and firewood.”
As they entered the pines, an eerie quiet engulfed them. The thick carpet of needles on the ground absorbed every sound. No shaft of light reached beneath the dense branches, though if the travelers looked straight up they could still see patches of blue sky. The eeriness grew until they were all uneasy. The dories turned their ears in all directions and trotted quickly along the path.
A jay screamed and flew low in front of Marenya’s dory. The dappled mare shied and then stood stock still, trembling. It took a minute for Marenya to soothe her. Faldur thought he could see dark shapes moving stealthily among the trees. The clearing was only about five hundred yards ahead of them. They needed to get to open ground.
“Hurry!” he murmured to Marenya.
She glanced at him as she remounted. “What is it?”
“Just hurry!”
He urged Strider forward as fast as he dared. Then a breeze wafted from the clearing towards them; the dories smelled the grass and surged ahead. Faldur tried to slow them down, not wanting to excite whatever was following them. He feared it was nightstalkers. He glanced back and read in Romer’s face that he had seen them too.
Faldur saw the glimmer of stars overhead as he reached the clearing and drew aside, preparing to let Marenya and Pelwyn ride past him into the open. Then several things happened at once. Romer yelled, “Lions!” Pelwyn screamed and Snowfall bolted past him into the clearing. There was a terrible snarl behind him and a strangled cry. He turned Strider and drew his sword just as an enormous dark shape rushed at him. Strider lowered his great curved horns and rammed his head into the lion’s chest. It swiped at both dory and rider, but being momentarily checked by Strider’s blow, it staggered and missed its mark. Faldur ducked and brought his blade across its throat. It reeled back, making horrible gasping sounds, and fell to the ground.
A second nightstalker attacked him from among the trees. Faldur was knocked from Strider’s back. As he rolled and raised his sword, the lion sank its teeth into his shoulder shaking him back and forth. Pain exploded in his shoulder; he screamed and dropped the sword. Strider rammed the side of the nightstalker’s head and it let go of him to attack the dory, swiping his flank with a great paw. Strider reared and rained blows on the lion’s head with his small, sharp hooves.
Faldur grabbed his knife from his belt with his undamaged arm and struggled to raise himself to his feet.
The nightstalker turned his attention back to the Ranger, letting the dory gallop free into the clearing. It yowled, laid its ears back and surged forward, then suddenly stopped, shrieked, and twisted in pain. As it slashed at something behind it, Faldur rushed forward and drove the knife into its chest. It staggered, its head wagging back and forth. Faldur pulled the knife out and stabbed it in the heart. This time it fell to the ground and didn’t move.
As it fell he saw the gleam of his own sword stuck in its back. Marenya stood wide-eyed with disbelief, one hand clapped against her face, and the other stretched open in front of her where the sword had been wrenched from it.
“Are you alright?” Faldur’s own voice was harsh with pain.
She nodded. He rushed past her to look for the others, holding his right arm against his body and clenching his teeth against the pain in his shoulder. Gorrith lay in the path, his chest covered with blood. He was still holding his dagger, which was stained with blood. Faldur swore loudly and fell to his knees beside him. Gorrith was still breathing but had retreated inside himself, instinctively slowing his heart so as not to bleed to death. There was a good chance he would survive, if they could keep him warm and tend him until he was mended enough to wake. Faldur gently took the dagger from his fingers and laid it aside.
Romer was lying nearby, arms outflung, neck at an awkward angle. Faldur went to him, knowing he was dead before he touched him. Being the rear guard, he had probably been attacked first. They had ridden together nearly every day for the last nine years, but this was not the time to weep.
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