Brandon Sanderson, a best-selling author, also the author of my favorite books such as Elantris, Warbreaker, and the Stormlight Archive, teaches Creative Writing at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. I had been considering possibly taking his class, but soon learned how difficult it can be to find an opening as the available spots for students fills up immediately. Fortunately for me, I discovered that the school allowed him to record his classes for two different years.
I am now watching the classes on his website, http://www.writeaboutdragons.com/brandon_w2012/. I am going through the 2013 collection and completing assignments as if I were a student. The class calls for a new story to be written through the duration, with thirty thousand words as the goal, and so I am beginning something new.
I'll post my progress:
Runes again - on the Vice President's face this time. Tom stared at the billboard, then glanced at other people on the streets. Most seemed to be focused on avoiding looking at the spray paint graffiti. That sort of vandalism was becoming more and more prevalent recently. A lot of people were blaming the refugees from Nemund. Tom didn't know what t think of it, but he knew his parents didn't mention it much.
Tom forced himself to pay attention to his current task. He had a letter for the mechanic. Tom studied the envelope while he walked briskly. The paper it was made from was light blue, the color of business correspondence. The address was printed on the top end and he noted the silver ink it was printed in. He grinned. That meant it was important, probably a bill of some sort. The way the sunlight reflected off the words when he turned it about in his hands made it look very official. It made Tom feel official, especially since this was only his twenty second delivery. Not even three days had passed on his new job and he was already delivering vital messages.
He spun the envelope in his fingers. It wasn't much bigger than any of the normal black ink letters he delivered, no wider than his hand, and only twice as long, but that was to be expected. His father had mentioned last month that they should be expecting to see a few changes with imported goods. Many of their allied countries were under siege by the Nemundian armies. Paper was one of those goods. Rotane didn't have much in the way of trees, other than shrubbery. His father had been right. The price of paper had doubled. People quickly adapted by printing on smaller sheets with finer print.
Tom hurried down the sidewalk, staring ahead as far as he could see. Street signs were too small to read from so far away, but he wasn't looking for those. He was searching for uniquely shaped buildings and statues, anything big enough to be recognized from a distance. He'd learned after his first day on the job that the more experienced messengers only talked about towers and distinctive businesses, basing their knowledge of the city's layout on a map of landmarks. Street names weren't very helpful when the city you were traversing was always changing its layout.
That was something Tom had always found fascinating about mod cities. The different districts could be reorganized during the day in order to make public transportation more efficient. Nobody needed a vehicle if you knew the city's shifting schedules. All you had to do was wait at the proper edge of your current district and your destination would eventually come to you. If you were in a hurry, you could simply find one or two more districts to step onto and catch your destination ahead of schedule. It was very convenient for shipments. It wasn't, however, helpful for more urgent concerns, such as emergency medical attention and sending correspondence. The former had been resolved by posting a medical facility in each district. The latter involved hiring young men to run all over the city, switching off between moving districts at perfect timing. The best messengers could travel from the hub to any other district during the busiest of times in under eight minutes. Tom was averaging about forty five minutes.
Tom was lucky today. He'd stepped up to the delivery counter at the hub just as the silver ink letter had dropped through the slot in the back wall. The attendant at the counter passed it over to Tom with a smile and a nod, jotting down his name and marking down the stub code. Each envelope had a small strip that could be torn away. It had a number printed on it, along with space for a signature. That was how the messengers were paid. At the end of the day, they turned in their stubs for payment. A black ink letter was worth one par. According to the chart, some boys were getting thirty stubs a day. That was decent for a day's wage at his age, but Tom wanted to do better. He was at about seven stubs on average. It was pathetic. He wanted to reach fifty.
Today, though, he had a silver ink letter. That stub was worth ten pars. As he walked down the hallway, awestruck, other messengers passing him cast glares. Newcomers never got anything more than black inks unless they were the only one around when a letter came in. It was their own fault for showing up too late.
Sunday, June 7, 2015
Thursday, May 28, 2015
Prism
I feel like I'm missing something. I get all hyped into starting new projects, but then begin to worry about where to go from there.
Outlines seem like the logical choice, but whenever I outline, it feels like I now know the direction the story is going and there is no room for creativity and the adventure of blazing new trails.
This cyclical mindset is not helping. How do I overcome one end or the other? How do I outline without taking away the sense of discovery? When I write, it's not planned out at all. I am meeting these characters and experiencing the world just like I do when I read other stories. Things make sense so I fill it in.
I don't mean to post this and make a disheartened mood. This is a serious question I have. I know part of writing involves pushing through until creativity flows again, but not having an outline is seriously setting me back.
I'm going to need to think about this and study around online for anyone who has had the same problem and gotten past it.
For now, here's some new writing:
Have you ever seen a prism turning a ray of white light into a rainbow of light? This is what happens to me when I run through glass.
It hurts.
Green. That's me right now. I am green. That means I am basically normal, except that I am not normal at all. I am balanced, but I am extreme. Confused? Not me. I know exactly what is going on around me and inside me. I know so much more than I could ever dream to know because I am free of things like emotions and delusions. It's simple, but I realize you won't understand that because you aren't free. I'll leave that to Orange to worry about.
My first assessment of my immediate environment includes matters of location, objective and resources. Location: I am in my high school complex, standing at the third floor balcony with my back turned to the large window. It is still sunny. The last class of school ended an hour ago. The only people in this building are the three janitors and possibly Mr. Rogers, a student counselor. Something tells me Yellow would be taking opportunity to elaborate on any humor behind his surname and his career.
Objective: My mission is to break into a particular desktop computer on the second floor in the school's library. A file is stored in its hard drive that can compromise me.
Resources: I have my mind. I also have a key to the library.
Obstacles: I entered the school building one window too high. I must make my way to the second floor without being seen. Cameras are placed near the lockers, which are located on every floor in the center hallways that cross from one side of the building to the other, uninterrupted. Cameras are also mounted in every elevator and stair well.
Outlines seem like the logical choice, but whenever I outline, it feels like I now know the direction the story is going and there is no room for creativity and the adventure of blazing new trails.
This cyclical mindset is not helping. How do I overcome one end or the other? How do I outline without taking away the sense of discovery? When I write, it's not planned out at all. I am meeting these characters and experiencing the world just like I do when I read other stories. Things make sense so I fill it in.
I don't mean to post this and make a disheartened mood. This is a serious question I have. I know part of writing involves pushing through until creativity flows again, but not having an outline is seriously setting me back.
I'm going to need to think about this and study around online for anyone who has had the same problem and gotten past it.
For now, here's some new writing:
Have you ever seen a prism turning a ray of white light into a rainbow of light? This is what happens to me when I run through glass.
It hurts.
Green. That's me right now. I am green. That means I am basically normal, except that I am not normal at all. I am balanced, but I am extreme. Confused? Not me. I know exactly what is going on around me and inside me. I know so much more than I could ever dream to know because I am free of things like emotions and delusions. It's simple, but I realize you won't understand that because you aren't free. I'll leave that to Orange to worry about.
My first assessment of my immediate environment includes matters of location, objective and resources. Location: I am in my high school complex, standing at the third floor balcony with my back turned to the large window. It is still sunny. The last class of school ended an hour ago. The only people in this building are the three janitors and possibly Mr. Rogers, a student counselor. Something tells me Yellow would be taking opportunity to elaborate on any humor behind his surname and his career.
Objective: My mission is to break into a particular desktop computer on the second floor in the school's library. A file is stored in its hard drive that can compromise me.
Resources: I have my mind. I also have a key to the library.
Obstacles: I entered the school building one window too high. I must make my way to the second floor without being seen. Cameras are placed near the lockers, which are located on every floor in the center hallways that cross from one side of the building to the other, uninterrupted. Cameras are also mounted in every elevator and stair well.
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
An End to Lazy! A Beginning for... um... Laser?
I see people are still checking back here for articles.
SWEET!
I guess I'll resume posting then. No more laziness, at least not as much. This time I'm going to do things how I originally planned to do them and focus on smaller stories, for the mean time at least. Say good night to the strange world of magical brothers. Time for some fun!
I guess I better share a story then, eh? Here goes:
George stared at thousands of stars in the sky. It wasn't night. Not even dark out. He scratched the stubble on his chin and said, "Huh."
On the other side of the world,five miles below the surface, Somi fell to her hands and knees. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. The sea of glass, not fifty feet from her, was pocked with countless lights from below.
"Radrus!" She yelled, not looking away from the spectacle. She slowly approached the edge of stone that ended ten feet above the ocean.
"What is going on?" Radrus said breathlessly, joining her at the ledge.
"Something new." She answered, turning to face her brother. Her eyes lit up as she grinned. "Something that hasn't been written."
SWEET!
I guess I'll resume posting then. No more laziness, at least not as much. This time I'm going to do things how I originally planned to do them and focus on smaller stories, for the mean time at least. Say good night to the strange world of magical brothers. Time for some fun!
I guess I better share a story then, eh? Here goes:
George stared at thousands of stars in the sky. It wasn't night. Not even dark out. He scratched the stubble on his chin and said, "Huh."
-----
On the other side of the world,five miles below the surface, Somi fell to her hands and knees. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. The sea of glass, not fifty feet from her, was pocked with countless lights from below.
"Radrus!" She yelled, not looking away from the spectacle. She slowly approached the edge of stone that ended ten feet above the ocean.
"What is going on?" Radrus said breathlessly, joining her at the ledge.
"Something new." She answered, turning to face her brother. Her eyes lit up as she grinned. "Something that hasn't been written."
-----
George sat behind his desk and stared at his computer screen. He ignored beeps coming from his networking application and scanned the database in his labs remotely. Nobody had seen this coming. There were no records of speculation of stars growing bright enough to decorate the clear blue atmosphere at lunch time.
Something like this was unheard of, unimaginable. He didn't believe it at first, even though he could see it with his own eyes and through telescopes, which turned out to be a very bad idea. He let the computers take pictures for him instead. His eyes still ached, and he hadn't even turned up the magnification.
He leaned rolled his chair closer to the window while remaining seated and leaned on the window sill. He looked up at the impossibility. From Earth's perspective, it covered approximately twenty four percent of the sky. From his little section of the world, it looked more like ninety percent. There was a little wedge to the East where the sky was just blue and clear. Normal.
-----
Somi drove ahead of Radrus. Both were on track bikes. The dual tread belts in front had studs that would help grip the uneven surfaces that were so prevalent in the caverns and tunnels. A single wheel in the back rolled free and only served as a brake.
Somi checked the guage for energy. It was half full. She would have enough to reach her destination and make the return trip twice over if need be. She looked over her shoulder and saw her brother not far behind. He nodded to the left.
Thursday, May 14, 2015
Free Day Today
I'm in the mood for some free writing again. I'll resume editing tomorrow.
Sometimes I wonder about strange things when I die.
What? Don't tell me you haven't ever had some completely unrelated thought cross your mind in the middle of an embarrassing conversation. Don't tell me you haven't laugh-snorted just as the culmination of stress from the past six months begins to tear your sanity apart piece by piece.
I know you have. Everyone who's died at least five times faces a period of psychological breakdown. Or two. Or much more. It really all depends on how many times you've perished, and how often. At least, that's my observation.
My odd thought on the top of the tallest tier of the Rain Palace was about my youth. Just as the molecule-thin blade of silvery light swept through the base of my neck, I recalled a memory.
I had spoken before gravity slid my head free, breaking pertinent electrical impulses in my spinal cord. "Why are they called Otter Pops?"
"What?" The tear-stained face of the Empress took on a frown of confusion. She still looked beautiful, I realized, regardless that it was her bejeweled fingers that held the blade-emitter.
"Otter Pops." I said again. "Those plastic tubes filled with colorful, frozen..." The rest of my words slurred when my head slid off my shoulders. Lucky for me, the fall knocked me unconscious before I could register any pain.
I absentmindedly hummed along while I waited for the reset.
Sometimes I wonder about strange things when I die.
What? Don't tell me you haven't ever had some completely unrelated thought cross your mind in the middle of an embarrassing conversation. Don't tell me you haven't laugh-snorted just as the culmination of stress from the past six months begins to tear your sanity apart piece by piece.
I know you have. Everyone who's died at least five times faces a period of psychological breakdown. Or two. Or much more. It really all depends on how many times you've perished, and how often. At least, that's my observation.
My odd thought on the top of the tallest tier of the Rain Palace was about my youth. Just as the molecule-thin blade of silvery light swept through the base of my neck, I recalled a memory.
I had spoken before gravity slid my head free, breaking pertinent electrical impulses in my spinal cord. "Why are they called Otter Pops?"
"What?" The tear-stained face of the Empress took on a frown of confusion. She still looked beautiful, I realized, regardless that it was her bejeweled fingers that held the blade-emitter.
"Otter Pops." I said again. "Those plastic tubes filled with colorful, frozen..." The rest of my words slurred when my head slid off my shoulders. Lucky for me, the fall knocked me unconscious before I could register any pain.
--------------
I woke up suspended in the same bland pocket in reality, hearing the same sequential tones that somehow reminded me of elevator music. My neck felt a little sore, but I rubbed the phantom pain away. There would be no trace of the cut. As far as my body was concerned, it had never been cut, or damaged in any way.I absentmindedly hummed along while I waited for the reset.
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
Editing and Inventory
I am taking the opportunity now to go over everything I have written in the story about Danos and Makos, reviewing details, editing, and taking account of where the plot is going along with character development status. This may take a few days.
Well, I have over twelve thousands words built into the story so far. That's pretty cool. That may become smaller or larger by the time I am done fixing things.
This first bit includes only changes of phrase to make things flow easier, along with general formatting:
The night was dark, like most nights, really. Nobody ever threatened the Highwhistle property, certainly not after most people had gone to bed. That is exactly what happened this night.
Makos listened to the conversation beyond his bedroom wall. The walls weren't especially thick, and his bed was right alongside the wall that separated the room from the entryway of their humble house. He held his head a few inches above the nightstand and angled his ear just right. He could understand most of it. He had to use his imagination for the quieter parts.
"You shouldn't eavesdrop." His brother said, startling him.
Makos looked up at his brother who was peeking down from the top bunk, and hissed a reply, "Don't scare me like that!"
Danos scowled back. "If you weren't eavesdropping, it wouldn't have been scary."
Makos stuck out his tongue. "You're no fun. I'm not eavesdropping, anyway. I'm listening to what father is saying to the grumpy man." He turned his ear back to the wall and resumed his listening.
"That's the definition of eavesdropping."
Makos ignored his brother mostly, muttering something like 'I'll defnishun you.'
He focused on the voices again. It sounded like an argument about payments and time. Danos interrupted him again. "Father won't like you eavesdropping. You weren't invited."
Makos spun around and stuck his tongue out even farther this time, making sure to flare his nostrils. It was the ultimate tongue-face. He had invented it himself last week.
The tongue-face was wasted on empty air. Makos glared up at the bed above him. "Aren't you curious about payments and time?" He asked, huffing.
Danos' eyebrows rose, then he frowned. "No."
"Suuure you aren't." Makos agreed. He quickly moved his ear back to the wall.
The mumbling had stopped while he was distracted. He identified a creaking sound as the front door opening. Some short, unrecognizable words rose in volume until he could make out 'free days!' The door slammed shut and Makos listened just a moment longer. A shuffling of feet and squeaking of floorboards trailed around the wall and up the stairs behind the wall at the end of Makos' bed.
The steps groaned as his father climbed them one at a time. Makos had learned that his father always paused partway up the staircase. He'd noticed that if the pause came before the sixth step, his father would try to hide feelings of disappointment or sadness that next morning. The sooner the pause, the worse he would be able to hide it.
One, two. Pause.
'Oh no.' Makos thought. 'It's a bad one.'
Three, four. Pause.
'A second pause?' Makos worried. 'He must be feeling really horrible.'
Five. Pause.
Makos' jaw dropped.
Six, seven, eight. A moment longer of hesitation before the door to the upstairs bedroom creaked open and then closed softly.
Makos sighed loudly. He hated seeing his father sad. His father, Denan Highwhistle, was a very hard worker. He raised horses for the royal family. His skill was sufficient to tame even wild horses from the distant plains of the Feuli Empire. This made other nobility envious of the king's horses. The king, loving the attention, would offer Denan's services to all of his friends. This meant more work for Makos' father.
Unfortunately, it was unheard of to pay a horse tender more than any other servant, regardless of increased workload. Makos couldn't always make sense of why adults thought the way they did. He figured they should worry less and try to have more fun.
Letting out another sigh for his father's depression, he looked up at Danos' bed and whispered loudly, "What does 'free days' mean?"
Danos mumbled back, "'Three days,' not 'free days.'"
"Oh." Makos said. A second alter, his eyes opened wide. "You were eavesdropping, too!"
"I wasn't eavesdropping." Danos responded. "There's a little hole in the wall up here. It's not eavesdropping if I can't help hearing it."
"You mean you heard it all?" Makos scrambled up to look over the edge of his brother's bed.
Danos was sitting up, but slumped forward. He looked depressed, like how Makos figured their father must look right then. Danos answered slowly. "It... It sounds like... well." He turned his head to look at Makos out of the corner of his eye. "Do you promise you won't cry?"
Makos nodded quickly.
"Well..." Danos' voice had that edge to it that made him sound like he was regretting bringing anything up.
"I promise." Makos said in his most reassuring way. His small hands gripped the bed frame tightly and he started at his brother's eyes intently. Danos didn't share secrets very often, and Makos wasn't about to let him back down now.
Danos gave in. "That was the banker. Father has to pay off his entire debt all at once now."
"What does that mean?" Makos prodded.
Danos sighed. "I think it means if he can't pay him soon, the bank will take away our home."
"They can't do that!" Makos spat.
Danos shook his head. "I heard father. He didn't argue against it. He only asked for more time."
"What did the banker say?" Makos asked.
"Three days." Danos' words sounded hollow, like people did when offering condolences to their family at their mother's funeral.
Makos furrowed his brow and stood up straighter on the edge of his own bed. "Then he just needs to pay him back."
"He can't." Danos said. "Not now."
Why not?"
Danos sighed. "Because he spends all of his money taking care of us. I think the bankers gave him years to pay it off at first, but now it sounds like they changed their mind all of a sudden." Danos shook himself out of his mood suddenly. His eyes widened and stared into Makos'. "Don't go feeling lousy because of it. Father would feel terrible if he thought you felt like you were a burden. He loves us and wants us to be happy, so don't get all mopey about it and spoil his sacrifice."
Makos rested his chin on his folded arms and replied. "I already said I wouldn't cry."
After a moment of silence, Makos asked, "What are we gonna do?"
Before his brother could answer, a very loud banging shook the front door. Both brothers jumped and stared at the wall separating them from the entryway.
The banging continued, louder this time. Makos was sure the hinges would snap if someone didn't answer it soon. He wondered if a hungry bear had found their house. 'The bear will be disappointed.' He thought, glumly. 'All we have left is oatmeal.'
Both boys turned their heads in unison toward the sound of the upstairs door squeaking open, then along the wall as footsteps thudded down the stairs and reached the door.
Makos and Danos stared at each other, wide-eyed. Makos clambered up onto the top bunk and both pushed their ears close to the tiny hole in the wall.
The door whined as it opened, and their father's voice greeted someone. "Hello? How can I help you?"
A mirthful, old voice, as creaky as the door hinges, answered. "I heard you were in a bit of a.. predicament, Mr. Whistle." The voice sounded like whoever owned it was trying very hard to sound consoling, but couldn't keep the chuckle out of his throat. "I do not come for help, but to help you."
"Help me?" Mr. Highwhistle asked.
"Help you!" The voice replied. "You do need help, don't you, Mr. Whistle?"
"Ah..." Mr. Highwhistle began. "It's actually Highwhistle."
"Of course you need help." The voice elaborated. "We all need help sometimes."
"I-"
"A lost dog found."
"Well-"
"A broken heart mended."
"Actually-"
Makos could hear his father trying to get a word in, but we was interrupted each time by the mysterious stranger. "But you!" The man shouted, startling the brothers, who bonked their heads together. "You. You don't need frivolous things. You need money."
Mr. Highwhistle let out his held breath, then asked, "Who, exactly, are you?"
Makos could almost hear the stranger's smile in his voice. "I! I am the clockmaker." Makos could imagine him standing tall, chest puffed out, thumbs hooked behind suspenders and head pivoted at just the right angle for admiration. His scraggly-bearded, crooked-spined concept for the man made the image hilarious.
"You... make clocks?" Denan asked.
"No no!" The clockmaker replied. "I make deals. The clocks make themselves."
Makos looked at Danos, who looked back with an 'I don't have a clue. He must be crazy.' kind of face.
The man continued. "I have a deal for you, Mr. Whistle."
"Highwhistle." Mr. Highwhistle corrected.
"Yes, right. I have a deal that will solve your problem." The clockmaker said smoothly.
"What kind of deal?"
The clockmaker answered through traces of a chuckle. "I will see to it your debt is resolved. In exchange, you do me a favor."
"What kind of favor?" Mr. Highwhistle asked more seriously.
"Nothing much." The clockmaker explained. "I have a collection I'd like you to look at. I love to show off my collection, and it would be worth paying off a measly loan to have your opinion."
A moment of silence later, Mr. Highwhistle remarked, "I don't know how you found out about my loan, but do you even realize how much it is? Did the banker send you? Is this some kind of joke?"
"No joke." The voice said darkly. "This is an opportunity you will only receive once. Take it now or say goodbye to your only chance of avoiding prison. And trust me, I can afford it."
Makos could hear his father pacing for a moment before responding. "Fine. I'll look at your collection, then." He didn't sound entusiastic.
"Great! But first, I must uphold my end of the deal." Makos heard a loud clunk hit the floor. "Three thousand silver pieces, exactly your debt."
The boys gasped in unison with their father. Makos wanted so badly to peek out the door and see this strange man and his bag of money, but he worried what Danos would say if he tried.
"I can't believe it..." Mr. Highwhistle's voice trailed off.
"Believe it." The clockmaker said. "I always keep my part in a deal. Now, for your end of the bargain." Makos heard the front door swing open. "This way, if you would."
Footsteps thudded on the front porch. The boys glanced at each other, then both of them climbed off the bed and peered out the window. The sun had gone down completely, leaving no trace of daylight, but the moon was out. It shone brightly enough for Makos to make out several shapes spread out across the front yard.
"What are those?" Makos asked.
"I don't know. It looks like they all have glass on one side, though." Danos answered. "I guess it would be best if we made certain." He hesitated a moment, then moved to the door and whispered. "Come on. It wouldn't hurt if we took a closer look, right?"
"Yeah." Makos agreed.
They left their room and Makos began to head for the front door. Danos stopped him, whispering, "The side door."
He led the way back around the stairs. He slowly opened the door and stopped it just before it creaked, then motioned Makos through. Once both were outside and the door was closed again, the boys slowly walked around to the front yard, making sure to crouch down.
Makos had to suppress several laughs as the long grass ran between his toes. Eventually Danos slowed to a stop and held out his arm in front of Makos, then pointed at the open field in front of their house.
Makos couldn't see his father, or anyone else, but there were several tall shapes looming in the darkness. He shivered, blaming it on the cold night air, then followed his brother who moved closer to one of the objects.
A faint ticking sound grew stronger as they reached the object. Danos moved around the side of it and stared up toward the top. Makos followed, wondering what the noise was about. When he reached his brother's side, he could clearly see the glass front of a grandfather clock in the moonlight.
It was similar to the one at the train station. It had a pendulum that swung back and forth to a tick-tocking rhythm. He saw the clock face had all twelve hours marked, like any clock. Golden fish designs in the clock face were unique, however. Several metal fish were spread about the face like it was a pool in which they swam. A fish near the number three was frozen mid-jump. A few drops of the white backing material looked like they had splashed onto numbers four and five.
Danos tugged Makos' sleeve. When Makos turned and looked where his brother pointed, his eyes opened wide. The entire yard was full of grandfather clocks, none farther than ten feet from another. Each was steadily ticking and tocking away in the moonlight.
From the faces he could see, Makos realized each was unique. Where one had a round face, another had a square face. Where one had number-engraved coins for hours, another had strange symbols that reminded him of the shopfronts of traveling merchants from the southern countries.
As he glanced about, Makos caught sight of two figures that were not clocks, nearer to the road that ran along the front of their property. They were standing in the midst of a few closely gathered clocks and a large wooden container. He pointed it out to Danos and both snuck closer, making sure to stay behind clocks on the way.
They came to hide behind one that had a kitten-shaped handle. The kitten had an outstretched paw with a bit of actual red yard dangling down from it. The yarn ended in a coiled ball. Makos stopped and tapped Danos when he heard voices from just beyond the next set of clocks.
"As you can see, I collect clocks." It was the voice of the stranger. Neither boy dared to look around the side of their cover for fear of being caught. "It is not an unusual hobby, but I have taken it a step further than others. You see, these clocks are all very special. Each one has memories and a story of its own, yet all of the stories share the same ending."
"Very interesting." Their father's voice sounded bored, but polite. "There is something I am more curious about, however. How did you manage to get these clocks all here so quickly. Our last visitor left not more than five minutes before your arrival, and he didn't seem to have noticed."
The stranger ignored the question. "Yes. The same ending. Each story is portrayed by the markings on their faces, and engraved in their woodworking. For example, this one. How interesting it is that the life of a farmer cultivates into a clock adorned with a glorious image of the moon marked with owls and loons.
"Most spectacular is its pendulum." He went on. "See how it is shaped like a mysterious woman? There is nothing to indicate crops or herds or anything farm-related of any sort. Obviously, the farmer wished for another life."
"It is a nice clock, very masterfully made, but I'm afraid I fail to see your point." Mr. Highwhistle admitted. "What are you getting at, sir? Why show me all of these clocks?"
There was a moment of silence, then the stranger responded. "Not all of these clocks. Only... one." The way the stranger spoke made Makos nervous.
"Very well. Which is it?"
Makos heard walking followed by what sounded like a cabinet door opening. "Look." The stranger ordered.
Makos heard feet shuffling in the grass followed by a gasp. His father's voice whispered. "It's beautiful..."
"I'm sure." The stranger said in an discomforting way, then continued with hints of eagerness. "Tell me, what about it do you find so intriguing?"
"So many kinds of horses." Mr. Highwhistle spoke slowly and thoughtfully as though the effort was a distraction, then there was a sudden burst of excitement in his voice. "Is that a hlambrin? I've heard so much about them. By word of mouth I can tell right off, though it does little justice! What a marvelous beast..."
"I thought so." The old voice said with a low chuckle. "All of your dreams and hopes and what you value dearly. Are they not all displayed?"
There was no response except for the sounds of muffled crying.
"Ah," the old man continued, "and now we come to the dearest."
Makos wanted to see what had made his father cry. He slowly edged his way to sneak just one eye beyond the edge of the clock. Danos pulled him back, shaking his head with a look that said 'You're going to get us in trouble!'
Before Makos could pantomime back an argument, he heard feet shuffling through grass and the sound of a cabinet door closing.
"By now," The clockmaker said, "You will have certainly noticed an odd feeling. Am I right? Can't quite move as well as you once could, hmm?"
"What are you-" Mr. Highwhistle began to ask, but what cut short as a loud noise like wood planks groaning under stress interrupted him.
"Filnewood!" The stranger breathed. "Very nice. You are off to a great start, Mr. Whistle."
"What is this magic? Stop this!"
The stranger chuckled in harmony with the sound of cracking glass. "You assume much. Why should it stop? Have I not kept my part of the bargain? Now, you are keeping yours."
"I didn't agree to this! Please, just-" More cracking cut him short.
Makos was about to dash out, turning back to make sure his brother wasn't watching, but realized Danos was just disappearing around the clock himself. Makos ran after him.
Both boys stopped in their tracks. Before them stood the stranger dressed in an ornate, purple and black cape with black pants, dark leather shoes, a fancy dress shirt that flared rather far at the collar, and a red hat that was crowned with a circle of feathers from various kinds of birds. He held a red coat beneath one arm, and the other hand was holding a large pocket watch, which was chained to his brown leather belt.
The man stood beside a grandfather clock, which was facing him. From that angle, Makos could easily see the front of it. It was made of a blonde wood with decorations carved up and down it. They looked like horses of many different kinds all posed as if galloping outward from the glass pane in the center of the door.
Makos couldn't see through the glass door very well, nor could he see through the moonlight glaring on the face of the clock, but he could make out a crack down the center of the face.
To his amazement, Makos heard his father's voice yell as if from inside a closed room. "Run!" A loud sound of breaking glass pealed out as the crack in the clock face uncracked, sealing itself up so as to make it impossible to know it had ever been there.
"What did you do?" Danos yelled. "How did you-" He seemed to not believe he was asking the question, and instead asked another. "Where is my father?"
The stranger turned his gaze to the older boy and smiled. He spoke up in a cheerful mood. "Ah yes! I was just showing these fine clocks to Mr. Whistle when all of a sudden we came across one he particularly liked. He must have decided that he would like to buy it. Perhaps he has gone off to the bank to collect some funds so that he might make the purchase."
"Wha-?" Danos said breathlessly. "At nine-o-clock?!"
The man nodded at the blonde wood clock. "Nine-o-nine, actually, it seems."
"You're a liar!" Makos screamed. "I heard it! You turned him into a clock!"
"I do not lie." The man spoke angrily, then continued in a softer tone. "I simply report what anyone will see, and I say your father is no longer here. As for turning someone into a clock." He sniffed. "What nonsense. I can't do that. What are you trying to say? That you believe in wizardry?" He clicked his tongue. "Unbecoming of a young man if he is to grow up to become a fine horse trainer like his father."
Danos stepped forward, staring up at the clockmaker intensely before stating, "I don't know what you did, but our father is gone, and you are behind it." Makos eyed his brother carefully. He had never seen Danos act so serious or talk so angrily before.
"I'd like to see you produce evidence of that." The man snickered.
"What's in the wardrobe?" Danos asked, nodding to the large container nearby.
"Ah." The man said. "Please, why don't you have a look?"
"No thanks." Danos said, stepping back slowly. "Whatever's inside it is what turned him into a clock, isn't it?"
"Oh, I insist you see it. Here, let me just open this door and you can find out for yourself." The old man grabbed the brass handle and began to pull it open.
Makos' heart began to thump wildly. For all he knew, something inside that tall cupboard was about to turn his brother into a dusty, old, grandfather clock, too. As the door began to squeak open, Makos acted on instinct, flinging his hand in front of the old man as he let out a cry of frustration.
Well, I have over twelve thousands words built into the story so far. That's pretty cool. That may become smaller or larger by the time I am done fixing things.
This first bit includes only changes of phrase to make things flow easier, along with general formatting:
The night was dark, like most nights, really. Nobody ever threatened the Highwhistle property, certainly not after most people had gone to bed. That is exactly what happened this night.
Makos listened to the conversation beyond his bedroom wall. The walls weren't especially thick, and his bed was right alongside the wall that separated the room from the entryway of their humble house. He held his head a few inches above the nightstand and angled his ear just right. He could understand most of it. He had to use his imagination for the quieter parts.
"You shouldn't eavesdrop." His brother said, startling him.
Makos looked up at his brother who was peeking down from the top bunk, and hissed a reply, "Don't scare me like that!"
Danos scowled back. "If you weren't eavesdropping, it wouldn't have been scary."
Makos stuck out his tongue. "You're no fun. I'm not eavesdropping, anyway. I'm listening to what father is saying to the grumpy man." He turned his ear back to the wall and resumed his listening.
"That's the definition of eavesdropping."
Makos ignored his brother mostly, muttering something like 'I'll defnishun you.'
He focused on the voices again. It sounded like an argument about payments and time. Danos interrupted him again. "Father won't like you eavesdropping. You weren't invited."
Makos spun around and stuck his tongue out even farther this time, making sure to flare his nostrils. It was the ultimate tongue-face. He had invented it himself last week.
The tongue-face was wasted on empty air. Makos glared up at the bed above him. "Aren't you curious about payments and time?" He asked, huffing.
Danos' eyebrows rose, then he frowned. "No."
"Suuure you aren't." Makos agreed. He quickly moved his ear back to the wall.
The mumbling had stopped while he was distracted. He identified a creaking sound as the front door opening. Some short, unrecognizable words rose in volume until he could make out 'free days!' The door slammed shut and Makos listened just a moment longer. A shuffling of feet and squeaking of floorboards trailed around the wall and up the stairs behind the wall at the end of Makos' bed.
The steps groaned as his father climbed them one at a time. Makos had learned that his father always paused partway up the staircase. He'd noticed that if the pause came before the sixth step, his father would try to hide feelings of disappointment or sadness that next morning. The sooner the pause, the worse he would be able to hide it.
One, two. Pause.
'Oh no.' Makos thought. 'It's a bad one.'
Three, four. Pause.
'A second pause?' Makos worried. 'He must be feeling really horrible.'
Five. Pause.
Makos' jaw dropped.
Six, seven, eight. A moment longer of hesitation before the door to the upstairs bedroom creaked open and then closed softly.
Makos sighed loudly. He hated seeing his father sad. His father, Denan Highwhistle, was a very hard worker. He raised horses for the royal family. His skill was sufficient to tame even wild horses from the distant plains of the Feuli Empire. This made other nobility envious of the king's horses. The king, loving the attention, would offer Denan's services to all of his friends. This meant more work for Makos' father.
Unfortunately, it was unheard of to pay a horse tender more than any other servant, regardless of increased workload. Makos couldn't always make sense of why adults thought the way they did. He figured they should worry less and try to have more fun.
Letting out another sigh for his father's depression, he looked up at Danos' bed and whispered loudly, "What does 'free days' mean?"
Danos mumbled back, "'Three days,' not 'free days.'"
"Oh." Makos said. A second alter, his eyes opened wide. "You were eavesdropping, too!"
"I wasn't eavesdropping." Danos responded. "There's a little hole in the wall up here. It's not eavesdropping if I can't help hearing it."
"You mean you heard it all?" Makos scrambled up to look over the edge of his brother's bed.
Danos was sitting up, but slumped forward. He looked depressed, like how Makos figured their father must look right then. Danos answered slowly. "It... It sounds like... well." He turned his head to look at Makos out of the corner of his eye. "Do you promise you won't cry?"
Makos nodded quickly.
"Well..." Danos' voice had that edge to it that made him sound like he was regretting bringing anything up.
"I promise." Makos said in his most reassuring way. His small hands gripped the bed frame tightly and he started at his brother's eyes intently. Danos didn't share secrets very often, and Makos wasn't about to let him back down now.
Danos gave in. "That was the banker. Father has to pay off his entire debt all at once now."
"What does that mean?" Makos prodded.
Danos sighed. "I think it means if he can't pay him soon, the bank will take away our home."
"They can't do that!" Makos spat.
Danos shook his head. "I heard father. He didn't argue against it. He only asked for more time."
"What did the banker say?" Makos asked.
"Three days." Danos' words sounded hollow, like people did when offering condolences to their family at their mother's funeral.
Makos furrowed his brow and stood up straighter on the edge of his own bed. "Then he just needs to pay him back."
"He can't." Danos said. "Not now."
Why not?"
Danos sighed. "Because he spends all of his money taking care of us. I think the bankers gave him years to pay it off at first, but now it sounds like they changed their mind all of a sudden." Danos shook himself out of his mood suddenly. His eyes widened and stared into Makos'. "Don't go feeling lousy because of it. Father would feel terrible if he thought you felt like you were a burden. He loves us and wants us to be happy, so don't get all mopey about it and spoil his sacrifice."
Makos rested his chin on his folded arms and replied. "I already said I wouldn't cry."
After a moment of silence, Makos asked, "What are we gonna do?"
Before his brother could answer, a very loud banging shook the front door. Both brothers jumped and stared at the wall separating them from the entryway.
The banging continued, louder this time. Makos was sure the hinges would snap if someone didn't answer it soon. He wondered if a hungry bear had found their house. 'The bear will be disappointed.' He thought, glumly. 'All we have left is oatmeal.'
Both boys turned their heads in unison toward the sound of the upstairs door squeaking open, then along the wall as footsteps thudded down the stairs and reached the door.
Makos and Danos stared at each other, wide-eyed. Makos clambered up onto the top bunk and both pushed their ears close to the tiny hole in the wall.
The door whined as it opened, and their father's voice greeted someone. "Hello? How can I help you?"
A mirthful, old voice, as creaky as the door hinges, answered. "I heard you were in a bit of a.. predicament, Mr. Whistle." The voice sounded like whoever owned it was trying very hard to sound consoling, but couldn't keep the chuckle out of his throat. "I do not come for help, but to help you."
"Help me?" Mr. Highwhistle asked.
"Help you!" The voice replied. "You do need help, don't you, Mr. Whistle?"
"Ah..." Mr. Highwhistle began. "It's actually Highwhistle."
"Of course you need help." The voice elaborated. "We all need help sometimes."
"I-"
"A lost dog found."
"Well-"
"A broken heart mended."
"Actually-"
Makos could hear his father trying to get a word in, but we was interrupted each time by the mysterious stranger. "But you!" The man shouted, startling the brothers, who bonked their heads together. "You. You don't need frivolous things. You need money."
Mr. Highwhistle let out his held breath, then asked, "Who, exactly, are you?"
Makos could almost hear the stranger's smile in his voice. "I! I am the clockmaker." Makos could imagine him standing tall, chest puffed out, thumbs hooked behind suspenders and head pivoted at just the right angle for admiration. His scraggly-bearded, crooked-spined concept for the man made the image hilarious.
"You... make clocks?" Denan asked.
"No no!" The clockmaker replied. "I make deals. The clocks make themselves."
Makos looked at Danos, who looked back with an 'I don't have a clue. He must be crazy.' kind of face.
The man continued. "I have a deal for you, Mr. Whistle."
"Highwhistle." Mr. Highwhistle corrected.
"Yes, right. I have a deal that will solve your problem." The clockmaker said smoothly.
"What kind of deal?"
The clockmaker answered through traces of a chuckle. "I will see to it your debt is resolved. In exchange, you do me a favor."
"What kind of favor?" Mr. Highwhistle asked more seriously.
"Nothing much." The clockmaker explained. "I have a collection I'd like you to look at. I love to show off my collection, and it would be worth paying off a measly loan to have your opinion."
A moment of silence later, Mr. Highwhistle remarked, "I don't know how you found out about my loan, but do you even realize how much it is? Did the banker send you? Is this some kind of joke?"
"No joke." The voice said darkly. "This is an opportunity you will only receive once. Take it now or say goodbye to your only chance of avoiding prison. And trust me, I can afford it."
Makos could hear his father pacing for a moment before responding. "Fine. I'll look at your collection, then." He didn't sound entusiastic.
"Great! But first, I must uphold my end of the deal." Makos heard a loud clunk hit the floor. "Three thousand silver pieces, exactly your debt."
The boys gasped in unison with their father. Makos wanted so badly to peek out the door and see this strange man and his bag of money, but he worried what Danos would say if he tried.
"I can't believe it..." Mr. Highwhistle's voice trailed off.
"Believe it." The clockmaker said. "I always keep my part in a deal. Now, for your end of the bargain." Makos heard the front door swing open. "This way, if you would."
Footsteps thudded on the front porch. The boys glanced at each other, then both of them climbed off the bed and peered out the window. The sun had gone down completely, leaving no trace of daylight, but the moon was out. It shone brightly enough for Makos to make out several shapes spread out across the front yard.
"What are those?" Makos asked.
"I don't know. It looks like they all have glass on one side, though." Danos answered. "I guess it would be best if we made certain." He hesitated a moment, then moved to the door and whispered. "Come on. It wouldn't hurt if we took a closer look, right?"
"Yeah." Makos agreed.
They left their room and Makos began to head for the front door. Danos stopped him, whispering, "The side door."
He led the way back around the stairs. He slowly opened the door and stopped it just before it creaked, then motioned Makos through. Once both were outside and the door was closed again, the boys slowly walked around to the front yard, making sure to crouch down.
Makos had to suppress several laughs as the long grass ran between his toes. Eventually Danos slowed to a stop and held out his arm in front of Makos, then pointed at the open field in front of their house.
Makos couldn't see his father, or anyone else, but there were several tall shapes looming in the darkness. He shivered, blaming it on the cold night air, then followed his brother who moved closer to one of the objects.
A faint ticking sound grew stronger as they reached the object. Danos moved around the side of it and stared up toward the top. Makos followed, wondering what the noise was about. When he reached his brother's side, he could clearly see the glass front of a grandfather clock in the moonlight.
It was similar to the one at the train station. It had a pendulum that swung back and forth to a tick-tocking rhythm. He saw the clock face had all twelve hours marked, like any clock. Golden fish designs in the clock face were unique, however. Several metal fish were spread about the face like it was a pool in which they swam. A fish near the number three was frozen mid-jump. A few drops of the white backing material looked like they had splashed onto numbers four and five.
Danos tugged Makos' sleeve. When Makos turned and looked where his brother pointed, his eyes opened wide. The entire yard was full of grandfather clocks, none farther than ten feet from another. Each was steadily ticking and tocking away in the moonlight.
From the faces he could see, Makos realized each was unique. Where one had a round face, another had a square face. Where one had number-engraved coins for hours, another had strange symbols that reminded him of the shopfronts of traveling merchants from the southern countries.
As he glanced about, Makos caught sight of two figures that were not clocks, nearer to the road that ran along the front of their property. They were standing in the midst of a few closely gathered clocks and a large wooden container. He pointed it out to Danos and both snuck closer, making sure to stay behind clocks on the way.
They came to hide behind one that had a kitten-shaped handle. The kitten had an outstretched paw with a bit of actual red yard dangling down from it. The yarn ended in a coiled ball. Makos stopped and tapped Danos when he heard voices from just beyond the next set of clocks.
"As you can see, I collect clocks." It was the voice of the stranger. Neither boy dared to look around the side of their cover for fear of being caught. "It is not an unusual hobby, but I have taken it a step further than others. You see, these clocks are all very special. Each one has memories and a story of its own, yet all of the stories share the same ending."
"Very interesting." Their father's voice sounded bored, but polite. "There is something I am more curious about, however. How did you manage to get these clocks all here so quickly. Our last visitor left not more than five minutes before your arrival, and he didn't seem to have noticed."
The stranger ignored the question. "Yes. The same ending. Each story is portrayed by the markings on their faces, and engraved in their woodworking. For example, this one. How interesting it is that the life of a farmer cultivates into a clock adorned with a glorious image of the moon marked with owls and loons.
"Most spectacular is its pendulum." He went on. "See how it is shaped like a mysterious woman? There is nothing to indicate crops or herds or anything farm-related of any sort. Obviously, the farmer wished for another life."
"It is a nice clock, very masterfully made, but I'm afraid I fail to see your point." Mr. Highwhistle admitted. "What are you getting at, sir? Why show me all of these clocks?"
There was a moment of silence, then the stranger responded. "Not all of these clocks. Only... one." The way the stranger spoke made Makos nervous.
"Very well. Which is it?"
Makos heard walking followed by what sounded like a cabinet door opening. "Look." The stranger ordered.
Makos heard feet shuffling in the grass followed by a gasp. His father's voice whispered. "It's beautiful..."
"I'm sure." The stranger said in an discomforting way, then continued with hints of eagerness. "Tell me, what about it do you find so intriguing?"
"So many kinds of horses." Mr. Highwhistle spoke slowly and thoughtfully as though the effort was a distraction, then there was a sudden burst of excitement in his voice. "Is that a hlambrin? I've heard so much about them. By word of mouth I can tell right off, though it does little justice! What a marvelous beast..."
"I thought so." The old voice said with a low chuckle. "All of your dreams and hopes and what you value dearly. Are they not all displayed?"
There was no response except for the sounds of muffled crying.
"Ah," the old man continued, "and now we come to the dearest."
Makos wanted to see what had made his father cry. He slowly edged his way to sneak just one eye beyond the edge of the clock. Danos pulled him back, shaking his head with a look that said 'You're going to get us in trouble!'
Before Makos could pantomime back an argument, he heard feet shuffling through grass and the sound of a cabinet door closing.
"By now," The clockmaker said, "You will have certainly noticed an odd feeling. Am I right? Can't quite move as well as you once could, hmm?"
"What are you-" Mr. Highwhistle began to ask, but what cut short as a loud noise like wood planks groaning under stress interrupted him.
"Filnewood!" The stranger breathed. "Very nice. You are off to a great start, Mr. Whistle."
"What is this magic? Stop this!"
The stranger chuckled in harmony with the sound of cracking glass. "You assume much. Why should it stop? Have I not kept my part of the bargain? Now, you are keeping yours."
"I didn't agree to this! Please, just-" More cracking cut him short.
Makos was about to dash out, turning back to make sure his brother wasn't watching, but realized Danos was just disappearing around the clock himself. Makos ran after him.
Both boys stopped in their tracks. Before them stood the stranger dressed in an ornate, purple and black cape with black pants, dark leather shoes, a fancy dress shirt that flared rather far at the collar, and a red hat that was crowned with a circle of feathers from various kinds of birds. He held a red coat beneath one arm, and the other hand was holding a large pocket watch, which was chained to his brown leather belt.
The man stood beside a grandfather clock, which was facing him. From that angle, Makos could easily see the front of it. It was made of a blonde wood with decorations carved up and down it. They looked like horses of many different kinds all posed as if galloping outward from the glass pane in the center of the door.
Makos couldn't see through the glass door very well, nor could he see through the moonlight glaring on the face of the clock, but he could make out a crack down the center of the face.
To his amazement, Makos heard his father's voice yell as if from inside a closed room. "Run!" A loud sound of breaking glass pealed out as the crack in the clock face uncracked, sealing itself up so as to make it impossible to know it had ever been there.
"What did you do?" Danos yelled. "How did you-" He seemed to not believe he was asking the question, and instead asked another. "Where is my father?"
The stranger turned his gaze to the older boy and smiled. He spoke up in a cheerful mood. "Ah yes! I was just showing these fine clocks to Mr. Whistle when all of a sudden we came across one he particularly liked. He must have decided that he would like to buy it. Perhaps he has gone off to the bank to collect some funds so that he might make the purchase."
"Wha-?" Danos said breathlessly. "At nine-o-clock?!"
The man nodded at the blonde wood clock. "Nine-o-nine, actually, it seems."
"You're a liar!" Makos screamed. "I heard it! You turned him into a clock!"
"I do not lie." The man spoke angrily, then continued in a softer tone. "I simply report what anyone will see, and I say your father is no longer here. As for turning someone into a clock." He sniffed. "What nonsense. I can't do that. What are you trying to say? That you believe in wizardry?" He clicked his tongue. "Unbecoming of a young man if he is to grow up to become a fine horse trainer like his father."
Danos stepped forward, staring up at the clockmaker intensely before stating, "I don't know what you did, but our father is gone, and you are behind it." Makos eyed his brother carefully. He had never seen Danos act so serious or talk so angrily before.
"I'd like to see you produce evidence of that." The man snickered.
"What's in the wardrobe?" Danos asked, nodding to the large container nearby.
"Ah." The man said. "Please, why don't you have a look?"
"No thanks." Danos said, stepping back slowly. "Whatever's inside it is what turned him into a clock, isn't it?"
"Oh, I insist you see it. Here, let me just open this door and you can find out for yourself." The old man grabbed the brass handle and began to pull it open.
Makos' heart began to thump wildly. For all he knew, something inside that tall cupboard was about to turn his brother into a dusty, old, grandfather clock, too. As the door began to squeak open, Makos acted on instinct, flinging his hand in front of the old man as he let out a cry of frustration.
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
Break
I'm taking a breather from the current story. Today I'm just going to write whatever flows.
Ejira was floating in a blue world. As far as she could see, indigo walls curved away in all directions, overlapping. They were like enormous shells enveloping her. She realized her vision was blurred, so she squinted her eyes.
Clarity threatened to overwhelm her. The smooth walls sharpened, fine details bursting across every square inch. She saw a grid of lines unfurl. Branches subdivided. Squares broke into clusters of smaller squares. Rooftops came into focus, thousands of them. The city lay before her and she realized that she was looking down at it, though it didn't feel that way. To her, it seemed that the sprawling metropolis was laying at a ninety degree angle. It was all blue.
Another massive wall bearing a blue city floated from the right, passing just behind the first. Ejira wondered what the people living in those houses though when they looked up and saw another mass of land flying over them. Her eyes followed the larger roads of one of the cities. She traced it all of the way to a very large building. The building in the center of the city. It was round, and had a domed roof. She squinted her eyes again and saw many blue vehicles moving in both directions along the streets around the large building.
Watching one particular vehicle, her eyes trailed it past the building and around several turns. It pulled into a parking lot outside a blue house near the bottom left corner of the city. She focused harder and could see the vehicle's door open. A person stepped out.
Something was familiar about that person. She couldn't figure out why. The figure moved toward the house's front door, then paused, one hand on the door knob. The woman turned her head to look up. Their eyes met.
Ejira was staring up at the stars, holding the door knob in her right hand. After a moment, she returned her gaze to the door, turned the knob, and opened it. She stepped inside the house, very vision blurring, and closed the door.
Ejira was floating in a blue world. As far as she could see, indigo walls curved away in all directions, overlapping. They were like enormous shells enveloping her. She realized her vision was blurred, so she squinted her eyes.
Clarity threatened to overwhelm her. The smooth walls sharpened, fine details bursting across every square inch. She saw a grid of lines unfurl. Branches subdivided. Squares broke into clusters of smaller squares. Rooftops came into focus, thousands of them. The city lay before her and she realized that she was looking down at it, though it didn't feel that way. To her, it seemed that the sprawling metropolis was laying at a ninety degree angle. It was all blue.
Another massive wall bearing a blue city floated from the right, passing just behind the first. Ejira wondered what the people living in those houses though when they looked up and saw another mass of land flying over them. Her eyes followed the larger roads of one of the cities. She traced it all of the way to a very large building. The building in the center of the city. It was round, and had a domed roof. She squinted her eyes again and saw many blue vehicles moving in both directions along the streets around the large building.
Watching one particular vehicle, her eyes trailed it past the building and around several turns. It pulled into a parking lot outside a blue house near the bottom left corner of the city. She focused harder and could see the vehicle's door open. A person stepped out.
Something was familiar about that person. She couldn't figure out why. The figure moved toward the house's front door, then paused, one hand on the door knob. The woman turned her head to look up. Their eyes met.
Ejira was staring up at the stars, holding the door knob in her right hand. After a moment, she returned her gaze to the door, turned the knob, and opened it. She stepped inside the house, very vision blurring, and closed the door.
--------------------------------
Ejira woke up slowly. Her mind felt like it was in fog, but she shook her head and rubbed her face with her hands. She yawned, then twisted her body to step down from the bed. She pushed her green sheets off of her legs and stood up, resting one hand on the white wall beside her.
She felt odd, like she was supposed to remember something.
Monday, May 11, 2015
Another Post
"OK." Danos breathed. He stepped into the narrow alley. The open street behind him glowed brightly in the sun when compared to the shadows he had entered. He turned and looked back at it, then forced himself to continue forward. He wondered why the building in this part of town had to be so tall.
"It's the sixth door on the right." The tiny man said. Danos noticed that the governor's voice was more subdued, and when he glanced down at his pocket, he saw how Weldun was gripping edge of his pocket tightly with both hands, staring straight forward.
Danos passed by one door. It was painted green, or at least it had once been green. Most of the flakes of paint had peeled off long ago, revealing wood grain coated in a thin layer of fine dust. It didn't have a window, only a single wood step beneath it. He didn't know what business was through that door, but he figured they didn't often use it.
"That's right." Weldun encouranged distractedly. "Only a little further." Danos wondered if the words were meant for him.
He stepped forward, realizing his shoulders were slouched and his back bent forward. That wasn't sending the right message. Danos needed to be brave, not a weak child. He stoop up straight and pulled his shoulders back. He marched into the darker shadows and looked up. There was a stream of light far above him, which shone across the alley and painted shadows on the patch of light where it landed. He thought he could make out the silhouette of a flower in a vase.
"It's the sixth door on the right." The tiny man said. Danos noticed that the governor's voice was more subdued, and when he glanced down at his pocket, he saw how Weldun was gripping edge of his pocket tightly with both hands, staring straight forward.
Danos passed by one door. It was painted green, or at least it had once been green. Most of the flakes of paint had peeled off long ago, revealing wood grain coated in a thin layer of fine dust. It didn't have a window, only a single wood step beneath it. He didn't know what business was through that door, but he figured they didn't often use it.
"That's right." Weldun encouranged distractedly. "Only a little further." Danos wondered if the words were meant for him.
He stepped forward, realizing his shoulders were slouched and his back bent forward. That wasn't sending the right message. Danos needed to be brave, not a weak child. He stoop up straight and pulled his shoulders back. He marched into the darker shadows and looked up. There was a stream of light far above him, which shone across the alley and painted shadows on the patch of light where it landed. He thought he could make out the silhouette of a flower in a vase.
Friday, May 8, 2015
Explaining
"Well, I hid under an overturned spoon." Weldun answered.
"Wow." Danos remarked. "That is pretty small. Fin didn't find you?"
The governor shook his head. "He crashed up and down the mayor's house before the police showed up and he was forced to escape with his thugs. I felt horrible hiding while the mayor's property was destroyed." His shoulders slumped.
"Was he safe?"
"Yes. Fortunately, he didn't receive any physical harm to his person." Weldun sighed. "I can't say the same about his psyche, however. The poor man hasn't stepped out of his house since. I caught sight of him peeking through the window shades on ten different occasions all within a five minute span."
Danos neared the archway and noticed the narrow alley just before it. He slowed his pace and peered down alley. Dead leaves from several autumns had accumulated down the stretch of cramped brickwork. The walls of the buildings on either side couldn't have been more than four feet apart. Fading light sidled through small gaps between buildings.
"It's down there?" Danos asked, staring into the deepening shadows.
"That's right." Weldun said. "Straight down to the backside of the pub."
"Alright." Danos breathed. He straightened his shoulders and resisted smoothing the hair standing up on his neck. "Just a little ways in."
He slowly walked into the passage; his feet crinkled dry leaves flat. He glanced up at the few beams of light that managed to hit the eastern wall, visible in the floating dust.
"The pub is nearer to the end, actually." Weldun explained quietly.
"Wow." Danos remarked. "That is pretty small. Fin didn't find you?"
The governor shook his head. "He crashed up and down the mayor's house before the police showed up and he was forced to escape with his thugs. I felt horrible hiding while the mayor's property was destroyed." His shoulders slumped.
"Was he safe?"
"Yes. Fortunately, he didn't receive any physical harm to his person." Weldun sighed. "I can't say the same about his psyche, however. The poor man hasn't stepped out of his house since. I caught sight of him peeking through the window shades on ten different occasions all within a five minute span."
Danos neared the archway and noticed the narrow alley just before it. He slowed his pace and peered down alley. Dead leaves from several autumns had accumulated down the stretch of cramped brickwork. The walls of the buildings on either side couldn't have been more than four feet apart. Fading light sidled through small gaps between buildings.
"It's down there?" Danos asked, staring into the deepening shadows.
"That's right." Weldun said. "Straight down to the backside of the pub."
"Alright." Danos breathed. He straightened his shoulders and resisted smoothing the hair standing up on his neck. "Just a little ways in."
He slowly walked into the passage; his feet crinkled dry leaves flat. He glanced up at the few beams of light that managed to hit the eastern wall, visible in the floating dust.
"The pub is nearer to the end, actually." Weldun explained quietly.
Thursday, May 7, 2015
The Magic Hat
"You'll see an archway up ahead." The governor explained. "Take a left at the alley right before it. I hid my belongings in a barrel behind the pub."
Danos nodded, then considered something, which he spoke. "Your hat is what gives you the power to change your size?"
"That's right." The little man answered.
"I'm curious," Danos continued, "Why didn't you take the hat along with you?"
A quiet sigh preceded some grumbling which Danos could not make out.
"What was that?" He asked.
"You may think you're a rather smart fellow, and me an old fool," The governor replied, "But I am the one with the magic hat. Don't assume I fell into my fortune, undeserving of the power."
"I'm sorry." Danos said. "I didn't mean to insult you. I just don't understand. How did you come across the hat?"
"Now there's a story!" The governor exclaimed.
(OK, I am getting a little annoyed typing "the governor" all of the time to reference the miniscule politician, so I am making a note here to go back and have him introduce himself by name for simplicity's sake. From now on, I have another option of indication for him.)
Ahem.
"Now there's a story!" Weldun exclaimed. "It was just the other day when I was traveling to this fine town in my coach. I had peeked out of the window at just the right moment. You see, there was a merchant's wagon pulled off of the road. One of its wheels had broken and bent and I saw the poor man puzzling over it.
"Having had a similar incident happen to my own vehicle two months prior, I felt it my duty as governor to inform the man that it was no hope trying to repair a wheel in such poor shape. I told him he would be better off accompanying me the remaining twelve miles to town.
"He was more than happy to accept my invitation, and very grateful. He tried offering me money as a reward for kindness, but I thought he would be needing it more than I sooner or later, so I turned it down. As a gesture of his gratitude, he insisted I at least take his new hat.
'"It is a lucky hat.' He told me. 'If you ever find yourself in a bind, simply tug on the brim and you will find yourself out of it.'
"I thought him insane, of course, but didn't want to offend him, so I took the hat." Weldun paused and Danos looked down at him, noticing a smile creeping across his face.
"What happened next?" Danos asked.
"Next," The governor answered, "I dropped him off in town at the wainwright's shop and made sure he had a horse to bring him back swiftly to his merchandise. Little did I know that the very hat he had given me would save my life that same evening."
"Save your life?" Danos pressed. "What happened?"
"I was invited to dine at the home of the mayor." He explained. "While we were eating and discussing plans for the development of more efficient transportation in the area, a crash came from the window. The mayor strode out of the dining room and I could hear his voice conversing with another." Weldun peered up at Danos. He put a tiny hand to the side of his mouth and whispered loudly, eyes opened wide. "It was Fin Daller."
"Who's that?" Danos asked.
The governor folded his arms and frown. "You don't pay much attention to the news, do you, boy?"
Danos shook his head.
"Well perhaps you ought to." Weldun said, then nodded once and continued. "Fin Daller is the leader of one of the rival burglar gangs in the capitol city. A few weeks ago, word had gotten around that he was looking for a chance to greet me personally. It had something to do with my push for increased street patrols ruining his underground trading schemes.
"Either way, I heard him say he was planning to do me in." The governor shivered. "I didn't like the idea of that, and my mind was quickly employed in trying to come up with a means of escape. When I tried sneaking out of a window, I caught a glimpse of some thugs waiting in the back yard. Fin was approaching down the hallway and I knew I had to act, but had no idea what to do.
"In the last moments of my panic, I recalled the promise of the strange merchant about my hat. Desperate to try anything at that point, I grabbed my hat, put it on and yanked on the brim as hard as I could."
"You shrunk?" Danos asked.
"Did I ever." The governor said. "I quickly learned the nature of the magic of the hat. I also soon realized that the power is increased the harder you tug the brim." He laughed.
"How small did it make you?" Danos asked.
To be continued.
Danos nodded, then considered something, which he spoke. "Your hat is what gives you the power to change your size?"
"That's right." The little man answered.
"I'm curious," Danos continued, "Why didn't you take the hat along with you?"
A quiet sigh preceded some grumbling which Danos could not make out.
"What was that?" He asked.
"You may think you're a rather smart fellow, and me an old fool," The governor replied, "But I am the one with the magic hat. Don't assume I fell into my fortune, undeserving of the power."
"I'm sorry." Danos said. "I didn't mean to insult you. I just don't understand. How did you come across the hat?"
"Now there's a story!" The governor exclaimed.
(OK, I am getting a little annoyed typing "the governor" all of the time to reference the miniscule politician, so I am making a note here to go back and have him introduce himself by name for simplicity's sake. From now on, I have another option of indication for him.)
Ahem.
"Now there's a story!" Weldun exclaimed. "It was just the other day when I was traveling to this fine town in my coach. I had peeked out of the window at just the right moment. You see, there was a merchant's wagon pulled off of the road. One of its wheels had broken and bent and I saw the poor man puzzling over it.
"Having had a similar incident happen to my own vehicle two months prior, I felt it my duty as governor to inform the man that it was no hope trying to repair a wheel in such poor shape. I told him he would be better off accompanying me the remaining twelve miles to town.
"He was more than happy to accept my invitation, and very grateful. He tried offering me money as a reward for kindness, but I thought he would be needing it more than I sooner or later, so I turned it down. As a gesture of his gratitude, he insisted I at least take his new hat.
'"It is a lucky hat.' He told me. 'If you ever find yourself in a bind, simply tug on the brim and you will find yourself out of it.'
"I thought him insane, of course, but didn't want to offend him, so I took the hat." Weldun paused and Danos looked down at him, noticing a smile creeping across his face.
"What happened next?" Danos asked.
"Next," The governor answered, "I dropped him off in town at the wainwright's shop and made sure he had a horse to bring him back swiftly to his merchandise. Little did I know that the very hat he had given me would save my life that same evening."
"Save your life?" Danos pressed. "What happened?"
"I was invited to dine at the home of the mayor." He explained. "While we were eating and discussing plans for the development of more efficient transportation in the area, a crash came from the window. The mayor strode out of the dining room and I could hear his voice conversing with another." Weldun peered up at Danos. He put a tiny hand to the side of his mouth and whispered loudly, eyes opened wide. "It was Fin Daller."
"Who's that?" Danos asked.
The governor folded his arms and frown. "You don't pay much attention to the news, do you, boy?"
Danos shook his head.
"Well perhaps you ought to." Weldun said, then nodded once and continued. "Fin Daller is the leader of one of the rival burglar gangs in the capitol city. A few weeks ago, word had gotten around that he was looking for a chance to greet me personally. It had something to do with my push for increased street patrols ruining his underground trading schemes.
"Either way, I heard him say he was planning to do me in." The governor shivered. "I didn't like the idea of that, and my mind was quickly employed in trying to come up with a means of escape. When I tried sneaking out of a window, I caught a glimpse of some thugs waiting in the back yard. Fin was approaching down the hallway and I knew I had to act, but had no idea what to do.
"In the last moments of my panic, I recalled the promise of the strange merchant about my hat. Desperate to try anything at that point, I grabbed my hat, put it on and yanked on the brim as hard as I could."
"You shrunk?" Danos asked.
"Did I ever." The governor said. "I quickly learned the nature of the magic of the hat. I also soon realized that the power is increased the harder you tug the brim." He laughed.
"How small did it make you?" Danos asked.
To be continued.
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
Guest Article: Worldbuilding, by Bill Tracy (Mandamon)
First off, thanks to Jason for letting me spill words all over his blog space. I will try to clean up my mess afterwards, but cannot be held accountable for any commas that might chance to escape into the wild.
Worldbuilding. It's one thing that the Sci Fi and Fantasy genres can really call their own, their call to arms. Without it, these places of make-believe are just crime dramas and soap operas with some glitter and elves throw at them.
Take a soap opera about the command structure of a naval vessel. Not that interesting. But put it in Spaaaace, and you have Star Trek. How about an essay on military formations in the early renaissance, gender politics, and the nature of good and evil? Not actually a history book. Just throw in elemental abilities gifted by the creator and you have The Wheel of Time saga.
These are trite examples, but my point is that worldbuilding is really what brings readers in to Sci Fi and Fantasy. Have an existential question? Define some geography, and a reason for fighting about it based on past history and you have people pulling up chairs to hear your story.
But I don't want to talk about just worldbuilding. I want to talk about what drew me into reading and then emulating my favorite authors, and that is universes.
And by universes I mean not just building a world, but building an entire cosmos to support your story. What better ego trip than to play God to an entire universe of possibilities? Some of my favorites are:
The Eternal Champion Cycle (Michael Moorcock)
The Cosmere (Brandon Sanderson)
Known Space (Larry Niven)
The Deathgate Cycle (Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman)
And to a slightly different extent, where the action only focuses on one world, but there are lots of hints that others are out there:
The Discworld (Terry Pratchett)
The Dresden Files (Jim Butcher)
The Wheel of Time (Robert Jordan)
The Riftwar Saga (Raymond Feist)
And so on. I haven't even gone into the visual universes of stories, like Star Trek, or Star Wars, or the Marvel or DC universes, or, of course, Doctor Who.
I could go on for quite a while. But there is a similarity between all of them. All of Sanderson's Cosmere books are set in the same universe, but on different planets where the inhabitants (save a select few) aren't even aware there are others. His systems of magic, at the very base, follow the same set of rules.
Michael Moorcock goes one step further, where he has a singular personality or soul who is reincarnated into a hero (or antihero) to solve a problem in different planes of existence. Sometimes different incarnations even exist at the same time.
Larry Niven uses the idea in a Science Fiction setting. Many of his books take place in the same history, with the same alien species, the same technological developments, and the same colonized planets. But the stories range from those with small consequences, or set in the near future, to those of galactic import, or set thousands of years in the future.
When creating a universe, the author, or authors, doesn't have to follow sequentially with the last chapter of the story they wrote (though some of them do). It doesn't even have to be the same author, in the case of the Star Wars Extended Universe. The stories can be about completely different things, even different genres of stories, but a single universe has the same underlying rules. So you can hop in and read (or watch), and if you know some of the other stories, you can see the breadcrumbs the author dropped about other heroes and heroines you've read about.
Now, as an aspiring and unpublished writer, as I am, you might feel a bit daunted jumping into the deep end here, and that's understandable. If you're not sure you'll even get published, much less finish your first book, why worry about future stories that you're never going to write?
Because it's so much fun.
I started my first novel when I was about fourteen. I wrote many words, got several chapters in, and had a start to a fantastic tale with universe-shaking consequences. Nay, Multiverse shaking. I, not content to merely parade through one universe, had set up the basis for literally trillions of stories.
Life happened, I went to college, I didn't write except for an occasional scene or idea. A few years after I finished college, I picked up writing again, and dove fully into it. I picked up my old story, realized how terrible it was, and saw it was so heavy it was liable to stretch the boundaries of space-time just by writing it.
So I trimmed it down to one universe of possibilities. I solidified the magic and the characters, and I finished writing it. It was one of the best feelings I've ever had, writing what I knew to be the last few words of my 200,000 word masterpiece.
Then I found Writing Excuses. The very first episode I listened to was Episode 5.13, "Writing the Second Book." In it, the podcasters went down a list of all the things that were wrong with my book. Specifically my book. It was like they had read it. And I realized both what the meaning of "trunk novel" was, and also that I needed to write another book.
So I did.
A few books later, I came back to that original story, pared it down again and re-wrote it from the ground up, without using any of the same text. I didn't even look at the old text. This one was only 150,000 words.
Why did I come back to it? Because it has so much potential for a universe of stories. Even if the first one I write never gets published, I could easily write a whole series about a different planet, or past history, or the future. The universe of the story lives on. Since then I have written one short story and one novelette set in the same universe, along with several stories not associated with that first one. It was fun playing in my own world, and it helped me define more of the societal customs and rules that make the story vivid. I will probably go back to that original story again at some point, and add in all the new details I've discovered while writing about things my main character has never heard of. I'm an archeologist, putting fossils on display in a museum on the other side of the world from where the action is. But that doesn't mean it doesn't matter. I have ideas for not just the main sequence of novels, but more novelettes about side characters, political mysteries, histories, and more. I get to write my own fan-fiction, and I'm not even published!
Just to make clear that I'm not completely crazy here, Brandon Sanderson's first book published was his eighth or ninth book written, if I remember correctly, but several of his unpublished books are set in his Cosmere, and he even references the worlds in his unpublished books in his published works, if you look carefully enough. I can say what I want to do isn't just delusions of grandeur.
So in summary:
Worldbuilding is what really drew me into Fantasy and Science Fiction. It's one of the main tools in these genres that is almost unique, and it's why groups of fans can have hours-long discussions about their favorite works.
Pros to creating your own universe:
You have plenty of opportunities to create stories. If one doesn't work, find a different story. During that time, you will build up a more complete history of your world or universe.
You can have your favorite characters pop up in different places, even if your readers don't know who they are yet (I'm looking at you, Hoid).
You can write different genres of stories, all with the same underlying rules.
You can create your own fan fiction.
Cons to creating your own universe:
Your first defining story in that universe is not likely to be very good, or even publishable.
You will have The Second Book Syndrome, as best described by the Writing Excuses crew in season 5 episode 13.
You will grow as a writer, and thus the stories will not be of consistent quality
Your ideas will change over time. You might need to make "adjustments" in later stories.
I get excited about story universes because they have so much potential. If you want an explanation of the video possibilities, rather than the text possibilities, look for Marvel's 2014 special "From Pulp to Pop," which dives into how they created their own universe and how it became so successful. I know I'm going to see Age of Ultron on opening day--are you? And then I'm going to be staying on schedule watching Agents of Shield because they tie in to the movies, and I have to see that extra bit of history unfold. And I will be waiting for the events of the Civil War, the basis of which will no doubt be set up in Age of Ultron. This is why we see the rise of the superhero story lately. Because Marvel (followed by others) is building an entire new universe for us to live in.
Story universes tie readers together and give them communities. They make us feel smart for catching that Easter Egg the writer threw in. This is why I write Epic Fantasy--for the worldbuilding. So I will keep writing books, whether they're published or not. If not, I have my own private universe to play in. And if they are, then I can let others play there too.
Worldbuilding. It's one thing that the Sci Fi and Fantasy genres can really call their own, their call to arms. Without it, these places of make-believe are just crime dramas and soap operas with some glitter and elves throw at them.
Take a soap opera about the command structure of a naval vessel. Not that interesting. But put it in Spaaaace, and you have Star Trek. How about an essay on military formations in the early renaissance, gender politics, and the nature of good and evil? Not actually a history book. Just throw in elemental abilities gifted by the creator and you have The Wheel of Time saga.
These are trite examples, but my point is that worldbuilding is really what brings readers in to Sci Fi and Fantasy. Have an existential question? Define some geography, and a reason for fighting about it based on past history and you have people pulling up chairs to hear your story.
But I don't want to talk about just worldbuilding. I want to talk about what drew me into reading and then emulating my favorite authors, and that is universes.
And by universes I mean not just building a world, but building an entire cosmos to support your story. What better ego trip than to play God to an entire universe of possibilities? Some of my favorites are:
The Eternal Champion Cycle (Michael Moorcock)
The Cosmere (Brandon Sanderson)
Known Space (Larry Niven)
The Deathgate Cycle (Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman)
And to a slightly different extent, where the action only focuses on one world, but there are lots of hints that others are out there:
The Discworld (Terry Pratchett)
The Dresden Files (Jim Butcher)
The Wheel of Time (Robert Jordan)
The Riftwar Saga (Raymond Feist)
And so on. I haven't even gone into the visual universes of stories, like Star Trek, or Star Wars, or the Marvel or DC universes, or, of course, Doctor Who.
I could go on for quite a while. But there is a similarity between all of them. All of Sanderson's Cosmere books are set in the same universe, but on different planets where the inhabitants (save a select few) aren't even aware there are others. His systems of magic, at the very base, follow the same set of rules.
Michael Moorcock goes one step further, where he has a singular personality or soul who is reincarnated into a hero (or antihero) to solve a problem in different planes of existence. Sometimes different incarnations even exist at the same time.
Larry Niven uses the idea in a Science Fiction setting. Many of his books take place in the same history, with the same alien species, the same technological developments, and the same colonized planets. But the stories range from those with small consequences, or set in the near future, to those of galactic import, or set thousands of years in the future.
When creating a universe, the author, or authors, doesn't have to follow sequentially with the last chapter of the story they wrote (though some of them do). It doesn't even have to be the same author, in the case of the Star Wars Extended Universe. The stories can be about completely different things, even different genres of stories, but a single universe has the same underlying rules. So you can hop in and read (or watch), and if you know some of the other stories, you can see the breadcrumbs the author dropped about other heroes and heroines you've read about.
Now, as an aspiring and unpublished writer, as I am, you might feel a bit daunted jumping into the deep end here, and that's understandable. If you're not sure you'll even get published, much less finish your first book, why worry about future stories that you're never going to write?
Because it's so much fun.
I started my first novel when I was about fourteen. I wrote many words, got several chapters in, and had a start to a fantastic tale with universe-shaking consequences. Nay, Multiverse shaking. I, not content to merely parade through one universe, had set up the basis for literally trillions of stories.
Life happened, I went to college, I didn't write except for an occasional scene or idea. A few years after I finished college, I picked up writing again, and dove fully into it. I picked up my old story, realized how terrible it was, and saw it was so heavy it was liable to stretch the boundaries of space-time just by writing it.
So I trimmed it down to one universe of possibilities. I solidified the magic and the characters, and I finished writing it. It was one of the best feelings I've ever had, writing what I knew to be the last few words of my 200,000 word masterpiece.
Then I found Writing Excuses. The very first episode I listened to was Episode 5.13, "Writing the Second Book." In it, the podcasters went down a list of all the things that were wrong with my book. Specifically my book. It was like they had read it. And I realized both what the meaning of "trunk novel" was, and also that I needed to write another book.
So I did.
A few books later, I came back to that original story, pared it down again and re-wrote it from the ground up, without using any of the same text. I didn't even look at the old text. This one was only 150,000 words.
Why did I come back to it? Because it has so much potential for a universe of stories. Even if the first one I write never gets published, I could easily write a whole series about a different planet, or past history, or the future. The universe of the story lives on. Since then I have written one short story and one novelette set in the same universe, along with several stories not associated with that first one. It was fun playing in my own world, and it helped me define more of the societal customs and rules that make the story vivid. I will probably go back to that original story again at some point, and add in all the new details I've discovered while writing about things my main character has never heard of. I'm an archeologist, putting fossils on display in a museum on the other side of the world from where the action is. But that doesn't mean it doesn't matter. I have ideas for not just the main sequence of novels, but more novelettes about side characters, political mysteries, histories, and more. I get to write my own fan-fiction, and I'm not even published!
Just to make clear that I'm not completely crazy here, Brandon Sanderson's first book published was his eighth or ninth book written, if I remember correctly, but several of his unpublished books are set in his Cosmere, and he even references the worlds in his unpublished books in his published works, if you look carefully enough. I can say what I want to do isn't just delusions of grandeur.
So in summary:
Worldbuilding is what really drew me into Fantasy and Science Fiction. It's one of the main tools in these genres that is almost unique, and it's why groups of fans can have hours-long discussions about their favorite works.
Pros to creating your own universe:
You have plenty of opportunities to create stories. If one doesn't work, find a different story. During that time, you will build up a more complete history of your world or universe.
You can have your favorite characters pop up in different places, even if your readers don't know who they are yet (I'm looking at you, Hoid).
You can write different genres of stories, all with the same underlying rules.
You can create your own fan fiction.
Cons to creating your own universe:
Your first defining story in that universe is not likely to be very good, or even publishable.
You will have The Second Book Syndrome, as best described by the Writing Excuses crew in season 5 episode 13.
You will grow as a writer, and thus the stories will not be of consistent quality
Your ideas will change over time. You might need to make "adjustments" in later stories.
I get excited about story universes because they have so much potential. If you want an explanation of the video possibilities, rather than the text possibilities, look for Marvel's 2014 special "From Pulp to Pop," which dives into how they created their own universe and how it became so successful. I know I'm going to see Age of Ultron on opening day--are you? And then I'm going to be staying on schedule watching Agents of Shield because they tie in to the movies, and I have to see that extra bit of history unfold. And I will be waiting for the events of the Civil War, the basis of which will no doubt be set up in Age of Ultron. This is why we see the rise of the superhero story lately. Because Marvel (followed by others) is building an entire new universe for us to live in.
Story universes tie readers together and give them communities. They make us feel smart for catching that Easter Egg the writer threw in. This is why I write Epic Fantasy--for the worldbuilding. So I will keep writing books, whether they're published or not. If not, I have my own private universe to play in. And if they are, then I can let others play there too.
-----------------------------
I want to give a big thanks to Bill Tracy (a.k.a. Mandamon at the Reading Excuses Writing Group) for sharing his insights today. I've had the chance to read from his drafts and have heckled him already about not being published already. He told me he won't keep the world waiting too much longer, however, so keep an eye out for his amazing books when things get rolling!
-Jason
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
Finishing the Sequel
"He turned my father into a clock, too." Makos said, feeling helpless all over again. "We still have him, but we don't know how to change him back."
"We?" Larca asked.
"I have an older brother." Makos explained. "His name's Danos."
"He doesn't have magic like you do?" She asked.
Makos shook his head. "I don't think he would like it anyway."
"Why not?" Larca asked, eyes wide in shock. "Who wouldn't want magic?"
"I don't know." Makos replied. "I think my power makes him nervous. I kind of... break a lot of stuff, and having magic doesn't help me out with that."
(If you have been following along, you may notice some inconsistencies in the story. I am taking advantage, yet again, of the fact that this is my first draft. I can go through it again later from start to end and rewrite parts. Notice that the purpose of this blog is for me to practice writing, so I apologize if any changes make things hard to keep track of, though I will add notes as I go along, like this, if I feel any major changes need to be addressed. I will also be giving spoilers throughout for what I plan to write later in the story. Some may turn out to be false alarms. It all depends on how things go when I get to those parts. Also, as I read, I realize my characters are not acting, or more so talking, their ages. I am considering bumping their ages up in the revisions. Who knows?)
"May I see your powers in person?" Larca asked politely.
Makos shrugged his shoulders. "I guess, but you might want to stand behind me. I don't really know how they work yet."
She moved behind him. Makos set his feet in a sturdy stance and took a deep breath. 'I hope this doesn't go too badly...' He thought, then swung one arm out quickly like he was throwing something sideways.
Nothing happened.
"Hmm." He remembered that his waving had made no ripples when the monsters attacked him. He swung his arms around harder several times, but there was still no magic.
Larca suppressed a giggle.
Makos frowned deeply. He kicked a few times toward a tree just to be sure, but there was no response.
"Are you OK?" Larca asked, hiding a humored tone.
"I did it before." He exclaimed. "It stopped working when the monsters tried to eat me." He studied his hands. Why wasn't it working? He was doing everything like he had before, but it was like the magic had left him.
"Well, that's OK." She said, patting him on the shoulder. "You can always try again later."
"I guess." He agreed.
"Would you take me to your house?" Larca asked. "I want to see these clocks. I think I recognized one."
"You did?" Makos asked. "Sure. We should stop back in town first, though. I left my brother back there and he is probably really worried. I was supposed to meet up with him a while ago." Makos hoped Danos hadn't gone to the police to report him missing. His gut felt like it was twisting into a knot. He turned to face Larca and said, "Now that I think about it, I probably shouldn't go into town."
"Why not?" She asked.
"I'm a wanted criminal." He said through a worried expression.
"You?" She asked, then closed her eyes. She put a hand to her mouth and chuckled quietly. "Oh. I see."
"I'm not really a criminal." He said quickly. "I guess my powers just acted up at the wrong time."
Larca smirked at him. "And you pretending to be a rune knight didn't have anything to do with it, I'm sure."
His face grew red.
Makos didn't respond to that, instead noting, "It's this way."
The two moved through the tall evergreens as the sun disappeared behind the mountains in the distance.
-----------------
Danos glanced at the horizon. It was getting late. The sun was low in the sky, and it would be dusk in a couple of hours. His focus was broken when a tiny cane poked him in the neck.
"Don't get distracted now." The governor glared up at him from within his shirt pocket. "We must hurry. My bones are aching, which means rain. At this size, a raindrop packs a bit more punch."
"Sorry." Danos said, resisting the urge to look at the clouds.
To Be Continued.
(This is a reminder to myself to include a quirk about Makos' magic. Spolier alert. Don't read if you want to be surprised:
(Highlight this next section if you want to see)
Makos and Danos are going to discover that they both share a portion of magic. Often without warning, it will shift from one of them to the other. The power manifests differently for each of them, too.)
"We?" Larca asked.
"I have an older brother." Makos explained. "His name's Danos."
"He doesn't have magic like you do?" She asked.
Makos shook his head. "I don't think he would like it anyway."
"Why not?" Larca asked, eyes wide in shock. "Who wouldn't want magic?"
"I don't know." Makos replied. "I think my power makes him nervous. I kind of... break a lot of stuff, and having magic doesn't help me out with that."
(If you have been following along, you may notice some inconsistencies in the story. I am taking advantage, yet again, of the fact that this is my first draft. I can go through it again later from start to end and rewrite parts. Notice that the purpose of this blog is for me to practice writing, so I apologize if any changes make things hard to keep track of, though I will add notes as I go along, like this, if I feel any major changes need to be addressed. I will also be giving spoilers throughout for what I plan to write later in the story. Some may turn out to be false alarms. It all depends on how things go when I get to those parts. Also, as I read, I realize my characters are not acting, or more so talking, their ages. I am considering bumping their ages up in the revisions. Who knows?)
"May I see your powers in person?" Larca asked politely.
Makos shrugged his shoulders. "I guess, but you might want to stand behind me. I don't really know how they work yet."
She moved behind him. Makos set his feet in a sturdy stance and took a deep breath. 'I hope this doesn't go too badly...' He thought, then swung one arm out quickly like he was throwing something sideways.
Nothing happened.
"Hmm." He remembered that his waving had made no ripples when the monsters attacked him. He swung his arms around harder several times, but there was still no magic.
Larca suppressed a giggle.
Makos frowned deeply. He kicked a few times toward a tree just to be sure, but there was no response.
"Are you OK?" Larca asked, hiding a humored tone.
"I did it before." He exclaimed. "It stopped working when the monsters tried to eat me." He studied his hands. Why wasn't it working? He was doing everything like he had before, but it was like the magic had left him.
"Well, that's OK." She said, patting him on the shoulder. "You can always try again later."
"I guess." He agreed.
"Would you take me to your house?" Larca asked. "I want to see these clocks. I think I recognized one."
"You did?" Makos asked. "Sure. We should stop back in town first, though. I left my brother back there and he is probably really worried. I was supposed to meet up with him a while ago." Makos hoped Danos hadn't gone to the police to report him missing. His gut felt like it was twisting into a knot. He turned to face Larca and said, "Now that I think about it, I probably shouldn't go into town."
"Why not?" She asked.
"I'm a wanted criminal." He said through a worried expression.
"You?" She asked, then closed her eyes. She put a hand to her mouth and chuckled quietly. "Oh. I see."
"I'm not really a criminal." He said quickly. "I guess my powers just acted up at the wrong time."
Larca smirked at him. "And you pretending to be a rune knight didn't have anything to do with it, I'm sure."
His face grew red.
Makos didn't respond to that, instead noting, "It's this way."
The two moved through the tall evergreens as the sun disappeared behind the mountains in the distance.
-----------------
Danos glanced at the horizon. It was getting late. The sun was low in the sky, and it would be dusk in a couple of hours. His focus was broken when a tiny cane poked him in the neck.
"Don't get distracted now." The governor glared up at him from within his shirt pocket. "We must hurry. My bones are aching, which means rain. At this size, a raindrop packs a bit more punch."
"Sorry." Danos said, resisting the urge to look at the clouds.
To Be Continued.
(This is a reminder to myself to include a quirk about Makos' magic. Spolier alert. Don't read if you want to be surprised:
(Highlight this next section if you want to see)
Makos and Danos are going to discover that they both share a portion of magic. Often without warning, it will shift from one of them to the other. The power manifests differently for each of them, too.)
Monday, May 4, 2015
Scenes and Sequels
Outlining is good for keeping structured story, but as I write, I find it so easy to slip back into just letting it flow. As you can see in the following bit of story, I don't even stick to the outline of using mistrust. It has become more of a 'sequel', a special kind of scene that happens between conflicts.
Scenes establish conflict. Sequels allow room to get a breather. Scenes are meant to force a character to go through challenges, emotional, mental, physical, moral, etc. Sequels can give them room to address what has happened to them and establish an opinion of what they will do based on what has been learned by the experience.
This isn't the only purpose of sequels, but a good one. The real benefit is giving the immersed readers a break from the stress. If you have a very engaging story, your readers will feel what the characters feel and worry for them. This can be taxing for anyone. Grant a sequel to allow for information to be processed and perhaps a little bit of a happier and hopeful mood.
And now, to the sequel:
"How did you do that?" Makos asked with wide eyes. The girl looked at him with a confused expression. He said, "How did you make that fire? How did you control it, and how did you run all over so fast?"
Larca frowned. "I used magic." She stated matter-of-factly.
"You didn't break anything, well, other than the monsters' tree." He exclaimed. "How did you control it?"
Larca smiled. "My sister taught me." She said.
"Your sister can use magic, too?" He gasped.
"Yes."
"How did you get magic?" Makos asked.
Larca shrugged her shoulders. "I was born with it."
Makos' eyes narrowed. "Before yesterday, I never heard of anyone who even believed magic was real. You can't have had it your whole life."
"Why not?" Larca asked, head tilting to the side while she studied his face carefully.
"Because-" He stammered, "Because there wasn't any magic before yesterday!"
Larca laughed. "You really think that?"
Makos blushed. "Well, yeah! Nobody has magic besides me and the clockmaker."
"Clockmaker?" Larca asked quickly. She took a step closer to Makos and continued. "Where did you see the clockmaker?"
Makos took a step back, then folded his arms and frowned at her. "He came to my home. He's gone now, though." He added when her eyes became intense.
"He left already?" She asked, looking very concerned all of a sudden. "What happened?"
"I sort of..." He rubbed the back of his head. "Well, I didn't mean to, but I used magic against him and kind of threw him miles away."
Larca stared at him.
"What?" He asked, scratching his neck.
"You banished the clockmaker?" She asked incredulously.
"Yeah. I guess so." He admitted. "I didn't mean to, though." He added quickly.
Larca closed her eyes for a few seconds, then burst into laughter. She wrapped her arms around herself and tears began to trickle from the corners of her closed eyelids. Makos was a little nervous seeing this girl lose her balance and fall on her back, only to continue laughing louder than before as she rolled from side to side.
"What's so funny?" He asked when she took a gasp for air.
"You- You!" She said through a series of more laughter.
Makos frowned. "What? Why am I funny?"
Larca took deep breaths and stopped rolling about. She answered, though she couldn't help chuckling between words. "You banished the clockmaker." Her face was red and she opened her eyes, speaking seriously. "I have to stop that. It's too funny."
"Stop what?" He asked, definitely confused.
"I can't close my eyes." She responded. "If I do-" She blinked, then let out a raucous guffaw. "I won't be able to stop." She chuckled quietly to herself as she got to her feet.
Makos' frown returned. "You aren't making sense."
"Sorry." Larca said. "It's one of my magic powers. If I close my eyes, I can see the memories of those around me, and that was hilarious."
"Really?" He asked.
"Yeah. I don't think I've ever seen anything so funny."
"No," He clarified. "I mean you can see memories, too?"
"Yep." She said, smiling. "I can't help it, sorry."
He raised an eyebrow. "So you saw me making those green ripples-" Larca snorted, but quickly composed herself. "that threw him?"
Larca nodded. "He must have been so shocked." She said excitedly. "I bet he's sulking right now." She smiled and gazed to the side.
Makos wondered how she knew so much about the clockmaker. "You've met him before?"
Larca folded her arms. Her jovial mood disappeared. "Yes. I wish I never had."
"Why?" Makos asked.
She looked to the side thoughtfully. "He turned my grandfather into a clock and took him away. My family has tried to get grandpa back, but the clockmaker keeps all of the clocks with him all of the time. It's impossible."
Makos recalled the dozens of clocks spread across his front yard. Each had been unique. He wondered which one had been Larca's grandfather. A realization shook him to his senses. "Your grandpa is in my front yard right now!" He blurted out.
"What?" Larca asked. "He's still there?"
Makos nodded.
"Let me see!" She said. "Try to picture it in your mind. Show me all of the clocks."
Makos closed his eyes and tried to recall each clock he had examined and all of the clocks in the distance from where he and Danos had been that night. He remembered the fish clock especially well and Larca gasped when he thought of it. His memory continued up until he heard his own father's voice muffled behind cracked glass on the face of one particular clock. the voice cut off when the crack mended itself magically.
"Did you see him?" Makos asked. "Where any of those him?"
Larca frowned, eyes sorrowful. "No." She answered. "He wasn't there."
After a moment of silence, she added, "The clockmaker must still have him."
Continuing tomorrow...
Scenes establish conflict. Sequels allow room to get a breather. Scenes are meant to force a character to go through challenges, emotional, mental, physical, moral, etc. Sequels can give them room to address what has happened to them and establish an opinion of what they will do based on what has been learned by the experience.
This isn't the only purpose of sequels, but a good one. The real benefit is giving the immersed readers a break from the stress. If you have a very engaging story, your readers will feel what the characters feel and worry for them. This can be taxing for anyone. Grant a sequel to allow for information to be processed and perhaps a little bit of a happier and hopeful mood.
And now, to the sequel:
"How did you do that?" Makos asked with wide eyes. The girl looked at him with a confused expression. He said, "How did you make that fire? How did you control it, and how did you run all over so fast?"
Larca frowned. "I used magic." She stated matter-of-factly.
"You didn't break anything, well, other than the monsters' tree." He exclaimed. "How did you control it?"
Larca smiled. "My sister taught me." She said.
"Your sister can use magic, too?" He gasped.
"Yes."
"How did you get magic?" Makos asked.
Larca shrugged her shoulders. "I was born with it."
Makos' eyes narrowed. "Before yesterday, I never heard of anyone who even believed magic was real. You can't have had it your whole life."
"Why not?" Larca asked, head tilting to the side while she studied his face carefully.
"Because-" He stammered, "Because there wasn't any magic before yesterday!"
Larca laughed. "You really think that?"
Makos blushed. "Well, yeah! Nobody has magic besides me and the clockmaker."
"Clockmaker?" Larca asked quickly. She took a step closer to Makos and continued. "Where did you see the clockmaker?"
Makos took a step back, then folded his arms and frowned at her. "He came to my home. He's gone now, though." He added when her eyes became intense.
"He left already?" She asked, looking very concerned all of a sudden. "What happened?"
"I sort of..." He rubbed the back of his head. "Well, I didn't mean to, but I used magic against him and kind of threw him miles away."
Larca stared at him.
"What?" He asked, scratching his neck.
"You banished the clockmaker?" She asked incredulously.
"Yeah. I guess so." He admitted. "I didn't mean to, though." He added quickly.
Larca closed her eyes for a few seconds, then burst into laughter. She wrapped her arms around herself and tears began to trickle from the corners of her closed eyelids. Makos was a little nervous seeing this girl lose her balance and fall on her back, only to continue laughing louder than before as she rolled from side to side.
"What's so funny?" He asked when she took a gasp for air.
"You- You!" She said through a series of more laughter.
Makos frowned. "What? Why am I funny?"
Larca took deep breaths and stopped rolling about. She answered, though she couldn't help chuckling between words. "You banished the clockmaker." Her face was red and she opened her eyes, speaking seriously. "I have to stop that. It's too funny."
"Stop what?" He asked, definitely confused.
"I can't close my eyes." She responded. "If I do-" She blinked, then let out a raucous guffaw. "I won't be able to stop." She chuckled quietly to herself as she got to her feet.
Makos' frown returned. "You aren't making sense."
"Sorry." Larca said. "It's one of my magic powers. If I close my eyes, I can see the memories of those around me, and that was hilarious."
"Really?" He asked.
"Yeah. I don't think I've ever seen anything so funny."
"No," He clarified. "I mean you can see memories, too?"
"Yep." She said, smiling. "I can't help it, sorry."
He raised an eyebrow. "So you saw me making those green ripples-" Larca snorted, but quickly composed herself. "that threw him?"
Larca nodded. "He must have been so shocked." She said excitedly. "I bet he's sulking right now." She smiled and gazed to the side.
Makos wondered how she knew so much about the clockmaker. "You've met him before?"
Larca folded her arms. Her jovial mood disappeared. "Yes. I wish I never had."
"Why?" Makos asked.
She looked to the side thoughtfully. "He turned my grandfather into a clock and took him away. My family has tried to get grandpa back, but the clockmaker keeps all of the clocks with him all of the time. It's impossible."
Makos recalled the dozens of clocks spread across his front yard. Each had been unique. He wondered which one had been Larca's grandfather. A realization shook him to his senses. "Your grandpa is in my front yard right now!" He blurted out.
"What?" Larca asked. "He's still there?"
Makos nodded.
"Let me see!" She said. "Try to picture it in your mind. Show me all of the clocks."
Makos closed his eyes and tried to recall each clock he had examined and all of the clocks in the distance from where he and Danos had been that night. He remembered the fish clock especially well and Larca gasped when he thought of it. His memory continued up until he heard his own father's voice muffled behind cracked glass on the face of one particular clock. the voice cut off when the crack mended itself magically.
"Did you see him?" Makos asked. "Where any of those him?"
Larca frowned, eyes sorrowful. "No." She answered. "He wasn't there."
After a moment of silence, she added, "The clockmaker must still have him."
Continuing tomorrow...
Saturday, May 2, 2015
Foreshadowing and Red Herrings
Change of plans for today. I'm going to take a Free Day and just have fun.
There's no reason not to pick something to demonstrate, however. And by that I mean I get to practice something new. What should I practice today? So far I have gone over things like conflict, character development, pacing, reader immersion, voice and work-shopping help. What else would be good to go over?
Alright. I admit I have been avoiding one particular topic I don't completely understand. It is an author's tool known as foreshadowing. I have a vague understanding of its purpose, but not quite how to create and employ it. Sounds like time to research.
...
Well, I've read a little on the topic and need to try explaining it so that I can make sense of it. Foreshadowing is used to create a sense of expectancy, of anticipation of something to come, particularly a conflict or plot twist, as I understand it.
One example is writing a book where the personal growth challenge the protagonist needs to overcome is a fear of dying. To foreshadow this, we need to include clues in the character's speech, gestures and expressions of nervousness or even anger when a relative topic is brought up, avoiding thinking about death, perhaps focusing efforts on living longer or forever, or creating some sort of protection through armies, technology, or magical means.
None of these clues will be flashy or obvious. Each needs to be a hinting detail that allows the reader to come to the conclusion by putting pieces together from the mood and reactions and choice of words of your character. The character's thoughts can analyze the environment, but with moody elements in doing so, such as when a friend dies, the protagonist is focused more on worries mixed in with or even in place of sorrow.
Another way to establish the use of foreshadowing is to define its sneaky opposite: Red Herrings.
'Red herring' is a funny name for another tool in writing. It is purposefully foreshadowing to lead readers to a false expectation. Why would anyone ever want to do that to their readers? Well, its obviously because writers have a sick sense of humor. That and it is a genius way to setup plot twists.
If foreshadowing is dropping subtle clues to something very important inevitably happening, red herrings are distractions that perhaps help keep us off of what is really going on while our subconscious mind holds onto the clues for future reference. I must admit that my favorite part of reading is when I have an idea of what is going to happen at the end, what the problem is and how it will be solved, only to be hit by the big reveal that pulls that foundation out from under my feet and amazes me with an equally, if not more, rational answer.
It is one of the only times I am elated when I find out I was completely wrong. In fact, if I was right in my guesses, and I discovered I was right, I would not view the book as having a powerful story. It would feel lacking to me in the enjoyment and 'worth the read' factor.
My very favorite books are those in which I can see the end coming, I know who the real villain is, then clues make me question that and realize I was wrong, then, once I change my guesswork and am sure I now have it all figured out with a smug judgement forming that the book isn't as good as I hoped, only to find that my original guess was correct, my new guess is wrong, and the actual answer is a lot more complex than than I first thought.
That is my 'wow' factor.
If you are familiar with the concept of a paradigm shift, I believe this is a very important part of foreshadowing. The writer must conceal and reveal true and false details through the story so that the reader's perception on the story's world changes, creating new 'Aha!' moments over and over again. These are what make stories so fun!
A warning: If your actual answer, the big reveal behind the story, is not reasonable, it loses all of its kick. By 'reasonable', I don't necessarily mean possible in a real world. More accurately, I mean explainable. There have been enough tiny clues through the whole story indicating that the truth has a place in your story's reality. This is what non-'red herring' foreshadowing is for. All of the clues will come rushing back and we will say "Argh! How did I not see this coming? Its obvious!" Such interjections will immediately be followed by others like "That was so cool!" and "The writer is a literary genius!"
I don't know that I can really create an example today in a short segment of proper foreshadowing, as proper foreshadowing involves lots of clues over time. Instead I will suggest that you may find it very difficult to foreshadow if you don't know what you are foreshadowing. I would say it's impossible to foreshadow well without planning out the major plot points.
The solutions? Outline your plot, then include clues and misdirection as you write, or write your story, then go back later and add in subtle clues at appropriate parts.
Through foreshadowing and applying red herrings, you will be able to turn your adventure into an engaging guessing game that readers will love to try and fail to figure out.
On a side note, this article has completed my fourth week of blogging on the Practice Raft! Woo hoo! Hopefully this is a bit of foreshadowing of things to come and not just a red herring, but I'll leave that up to you to find out. ;)
There's no reason not to pick something to demonstrate, however. And by that I mean I get to practice something new. What should I practice today? So far I have gone over things like conflict, character development, pacing, reader immersion, voice and work-shopping help. What else would be good to go over?
Alright. I admit I have been avoiding one particular topic I don't completely understand. It is an author's tool known as foreshadowing. I have a vague understanding of its purpose, but not quite how to create and employ it. Sounds like time to research.
...
Well, I've read a little on the topic and need to try explaining it so that I can make sense of it. Foreshadowing is used to create a sense of expectancy, of anticipation of something to come, particularly a conflict or plot twist, as I understand it.
One example is writing a book where the personal growth challenge the protagonist needs to overcome is a fear of dying. To foreshadow this, we need to include clues in the character's speech, gestures and expressions of nervousness or even anger when a relative topic is brought up, avoiding thinking about death, perhaps focusing efforts on living longer or forever, or creating some sort of protection through armies, technology, or magical means.
None of these clues will be flashy or obvious. Each needs to be a hinting detail that allows the reader to come to the conclusion by putting pieces together from the mood and reactions and choice of words of your character. The character's thoughts can analyze the environment, but with moody elements in doing so, such as when a friend dies, the protagonist is focused more on worries mixed in with or even in place of sorrow.
Another way to establish the use of foreshadowing is to define its sneaky opposite: Red Herrings.
'Red herring' is a funny name for another tool in writing. It is purposefully foreshadowing to lead readers to a false expectation. Why would anyone ever want to do that to their readers? Well, its obviously because writers have a sick sense of humor. That and it is a genius way to setup plot twists.
If foreshadowing is dropping subtle clues to something very important inevitably happening, red herrings are distractions that perhaps help keep us off of what is really going on while our subconscious mind holds onto the clues for future reference. I must admit that my favorite part of reading is when I have an idea of what is going to happen at the end, what the problem is and how it will be solved, only to be hit by the big reveal that pulls that foundation out from under my feet and amazes me with an equally, if not more, rational answer.
It is one of the only times I am elated when I find out I was completely wrong. In fact, if I was right in my guesses, and I discovered I was right, I would not view the book as having a powerful story. It would feel lacking to me in the enjoyment and 'worth the read' factor.
My very favorite books are those in which I can see the end coming, I know who the real villain is, then clues make me question that and realize I was wrong, then, once I change my guesswork and am sure I now have it all figured out with a smug judgement forming that the book isn't as good as I hoped, only to find that my original guess was correct, my new guess is wrong, and the actual answer is a lot more complex than than I first thought.
That is my 'wow' factor.
If you are familiar with the concept of a paradigm shift, I believe this is a very important part of foreshadowing. The writer must conceal and reveal true and false details through the story so that the reader's perception on the story's world changes, creating new 'Aha!' moments over and over again. These are what make stories so fun!
A warning: If your actual answer, the big reveal behind the story, is not reasonable, it loses all of its kick. By 'reasonable', I don't necessarily mean possible in a real world. More accurately, I mean explainable. There have been enough tiny clues through the whole story indicating that the truth has a place in your story's reality. This is what non-'red herring' foreshadowing is for. All of the clues will come rushing back and we will say "Argh! How did I not see this coming? Its obvious!" Such interjections will immediately be followed by others like "That was so cool!" and "The writer is a literary genius!"
I don't know that I can really create an example today in a short segment of proper foreshadowing, as proper foreshadowing involves lots of clues over time. Instead I will suggest that you may find it very difficult to foreshadow if you don't know what you are foreshadowing. I would say it's impossible to foreshadow well without planning out the major plot points.
The solutions? Outline your plot, then include clues and misdirection as you write, or write your story, then go back later and add in subtle clues at appropriate parts.
Through foreshadowing and applying red herrings, you will be able to turn your adventure into an engaging guessing game that readers will love to try and fail to figure out.
On a side note, this article has completed my fourth week of blogging on the Practice Raft! Woo hoo! Hopefully this is a bit of foreshadowing of things to come and not just a red herring, but I'll leave that up to you to find out. ;)
Friday, May 1, 2015
Time to Outline
Now to introduce Makos to his savior. How should I handle this? As a writer, I need to consider his challenge that I want him to overcome. I've used Deus Ex Machina to save him, but it is for a specific purpose of introducing a new character while creating conflict and demonstrating the character's personality and powers to an extent.
Deus Ex Machina is a term and technique which involves having something new save the day when your characters are unable. It can be a cheap, lazy way to write your characters out of a tight spot, unless you have a specific thing in mind that will be achieved by doing so.
I want to involve someone who can help introduce Makos to the new world of magic. He needs a guide.
He also needs to learn to trust someone his age. Its one of his weaknesses. Perhaps I should have shown more examples of his distrust of his peers while leading up to this point, and I intend to do so in my second draft of the story. I can still show his struggle in this meeting, however.
Today I am going to try to outline the scene. I have been discovery writing so far with minimal planning. The two methods of story creation both have their benefits and an author who can employ techniques from both will have a larger range of tools in their craft. I will write an article on this later, though, so for now: outlining.
Key point: Makos meets Larca.
-She is also nine years old. She was raised in the magical realms.
Key point: Makos distrusts her.
Key point: Makos has no alternative but to learn to trust her, for now.
How am I going to work out the interaction from one step to another with the most conflict without straining the relationship?
Solution: Larca can answer Makos' questions.
Solution: Larca knows how to get back to town.
Solution: Larca can provide further protection.
I will paint in some distrust and embarrassment to add conflict. Larca won't care so much, for now, and reply to his judgements with reasoning. Makos will relent.
Now to use my discovery writing techniques and fill in the blanks:
Paint the scene again.
He looked around cautiously. 'Whoever killed the monsters is probably still out there, somewhere.' He thought. 'If I'm not careful, I might be next.'
He feet made little noise on the dry pine needles. After circling the clearing where the moster tree had fallen without hearing anything besides the wind blowing through the forest, Makos stood straighter and walked out to inspect the burnt tree.
It was covered in soot and almost all of the pine needles were gone. The ground all around it, leading up to the trees nearby, was charred. He noticed how odd it was that none of the surrounding trees had been damaged by the fire besides a little bit of singeing of the ends of needles closest to where the fires had sprung up.
Key point: Makos meets Larca.
-She is also nine years old. She was raised in the magical realms.
Makos moved back to inspect the skeleton of the burned tree. He was nervous what he would find, but wanted a better look at the monsters who had controlled the large pine.
"It's dead."
The voice made Makos jump a foot into the air. He landed clutching his chest and breathing wildly. He spun around and saw a girl standing a couple yards away. She was about his height, had long golden hair that was tied back into a single, thick braid, and her skin was very light, more than he had ever seen on a person. She wore pants and a jacket that looked like it was made out of some sort of leaf-patterned leather, both brown and green. The colors were smoothed into and out of each other throughout the pieces of clothing. Her shirt was a pastel yellow, embroidered around the neck in violet, orange and red thread patterns that made Makos think about stars amidst falling leaves.
He realized he hadn't said anything once he noticed her smiling at him. "Who are you?" He asked.
"I'm Larca." She said.
He frowned. That was a strange name.
"Well?" She said.
"Well what?" He asked.
"What's your name?" She eyed him with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, right." Makos replied. "I'm Makos." Something occurred to him. This girl had burned the monsters. He took a step back. "You killed them."
"Yes." She agreed. She turned to look at the remains of the tree and her eyes grew sad. "I didn't want to burn the tree, but they weren't going to leave it."
Continued tomorrow...
Deus Ex Machina is a term and technique which involves having something new save the day when your characters are unable. It can be a cheap, lazy way to write your characters out of a tight spot, unless you have a specific thing in mind that will be achieved by doing so.
I want to involve someone who can help introduce Makos to the new world of magic. He needs a guide.
He also needs to learn to trust someone his age. Its one of his weaknesses. Perhaps I should have shown more examples of his distrust of his peers while leading up to this point, and I intend to do so in my second draft of the story. I can still show his struggle in this meeting, however.
Today I am going to try to outline the scene. I have been discovery writing so far with minimal planning. The two methods of story creation both have their benefits and an author who can employ techniques from both will have a larger range of tools in their craft. I will write an article on this later, though, so for now: outlining.
Key point: Makos meets Larca.
-She is also nine years old. She was raised in the magical realms.
Key point: Makos distrusts her.
Key point: Makos has no alternative but to learn to trust her, for now.
How am I going to work out the interaction from one step to another with the most conflict without straining the relationship?
Solution: Larca can answer Makos' questions.
Solution: Larca knows how to get back to town.
Solution: Larca can provide further protection.
I will paint in some distrust and embarrassment to add conflict. Larca won't care so much, for now, and reply to his judgements with reasoning. Makos will relent.
Now to use my discovery writing techniques and fill in the blanks:
Paint the scene again.
He looked around cautiously. 'Whoever killed the monsters is probably still out there, somewhere.' He thought. 'If I'm not careful, I might be next.'
He feet made little noise on the dry pine needles. After circling the clearing where the moster tree had fallen without hearing anything besides the wind blowing through the forest, Makos stood straighter and walked out to inspect the burnt tree.
It was covered in soot and almost all of the pine needles were gone. The ground all around it, leading up to the trees nearby, was charred. He noticed how odd it was that none of the surrounding trees had been damaged by the fire besides a little bit of singeing of the ends of needles closest to where the fires had sprung up.
Key point: Makos meets Larca.
-She is also nine years old. She was raised in the magical realms.
Makos moved back to inspect the skeleton of the burned tree. He was nervous what he would find, but wanted a better look at the monsters who had controlled the large pine.
"It's dead."
The voice made Makos jump a foot into the air. He landed clutching his chest and breathing wildly. He spun around and saw a girl standing a couple yards away. She was about his height, had long golden hair that was tied back into a single, thick braid, and her skin was very light, more than he had ever seen on a person. She wore pants and a jacket that looked like it was made out of some sort of leaf-patterned leather, both brown and green. The colors were smoothed into and out of each other throughout the pieces of clothing. Her shirt was a pastel yellow, embroidered around the neck in violet, orange and red thread patterns that made Makos think about stars amidst falling leaves.
He realized he hadn't said anything once he noticed her smiling at him. "Who are you?" He asked.
"I'm Larca." She said.
He frowned. That was a strange name.
"Well?" She said.
"Well what?" He asked.
"What's your name?" She eyed him with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, right." Makos replied. "I'm Makos." Something occurred to him. This girl had burned the monsters. He took a step back. "You killed them."
"Yes." She agreed. She turned to look at the remains of the tree and her eyes grew sad. "I didn't want to burn the tree, but they weren't going to leave it."
Continued tomorrow...
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Whew...
I've gained a little more insight on what Makos needs to face in his confrontations. He has trouble with other kids picking on him. He is a bit of a loner. He resents other kids his age automatically, feeling like they all judge him. He needs to make friends and learn to trust them.
Let's introduce a new friend.
Makos scrambled away on hands and feet with his back to the ground. He kept going until he bumped his head on another tree.
The monsters in the tree growled at him, "You better not try to run." They said, both voices the same, yet in eerie harmony to each other. "We will only get hungrier."
Makos picked himself off of the pine needle-strewn ground and ran in the opposite direction of the monsters as fast as he could while craning his neck to make sure they didn't follow.
Instead of climbing down the tree and chasing him, he was horrified to see the trunk of the tree divide from the ground up several feet. It formed into two legs. Feet of roots pried themselves out of the earth and the tree started walking after him.
Makos turned to look the way he was running and hit his face on a thick branch. His momentum carried on through his legs, which slipped on layers of dry pine needles. He fell onto his back and bumped his head hard on the ground.
For a moment, all he could remember was that he had been running from something. He tried to recall what it was, but the dancing specks in his vision made it hard to concentrate. In a few seconds, his sight came back into focus and the nauseous feeling passed. The first thing he saw was a giant pine branch shaped like a hand reach over him to pick him up. Everything came back at once, including his terror.
Just as the green, bristly hand was beginning to wrap its fingers around him, a flash of light blinded him. His vision cleared a moment later and he saw the branch was severed from the rest of the monster tree, smouldering where it had been broken.
A loud, discordant scream shook the air. Makos twisted his neck further to see the giant tree holding its damaged arm with the remaining hand. "I'll eat you first!" The monsters roared.
"You don't even know where I am." A calm voice replied.
They giant tree turned its 'head' back and forth. The yellow eyes searched high and low, but didn't seem to be having any luck locating whoever had spoken. "Come out! Stop hiding. We're going to catch you either way, so just give up."
A child's laughter came from many directions, switching from left to right, far to near. Makos tried to find who was laughing and was surprised when he saw the silhouette of someone small dashing between the trees. The person moved so quickly, he could only see the after image like a blurry shadow, but couldn't manage to keep track of it the whole time, even though tree branches shook lightly wherever it went.
Eventually, the laughing stopped and the rustling of the trees calmed down. The same quiet voice spoke again. "My plans don't include you catching anything, so there goes your argument." More laughter broke out. The sky was beginning to darken, Makos noticed, and he could see several glowing dots of light amidst the trees surrounding the monsters' tree.
"What is this?" The monsters cried out, their voices quaking in anger. Makos thought he recognized a hint of fear in it.
"Give up." The hider spoke. "I will let you go if you promise to never touch the evergreen trees again."
"I won't." The monsters said. "Won't promise!" The tree swung its good arm into a nearby tree, breaking off many branches from one side, though the arm remained undamaged.
The glowing dots of light closest to the monsters burst into flames. The flames spread down to the ground and lit the dry needles. A large fire grew into a roaring wall in seconds. It moved toward the monstrous tree like a towering wave, ready to crash down at any second. The monstrous tree took several steps backwards before turning around completely and running to the other side of the ring of trees.
It was met by more dim lights bursting alight. In fact, the monstrous tree tried to escape from several directions, but was hindered by more fires. The childish laughter rang out again from one side of the fiery ring. "You should have promised."
It wasn't long before the terrible screaming finally stopped. Makos was frozen in fear. He stared as the tree fell to its knees while flames engulfed it.
When the monsters had been silent for several minutes, he fire weakened all over. In a few moments, it shrank from roaring walls to tiny flickers of flame licking the charred form of a tree skeleton.
Makos almost wandered out before he remembered he had no idea who had started the fires. He didn't know if whoever it was would be friendly or a new enemy.
After minutes had passed and nobody spoke from the shadows, Makos creeped out of his own hiding place under some low-sweeping pine branches.
Let's introduce a new friend.
Makos scrambled away on hands and feet with his back to the ground. He kept going until he bumped his head on another tree.
The monsters in the tree growled at him, "You better not try to run." They said, both voices the same, yet in eerie harmony to each other. "We will only get hungrier."
Makos picked himself off of the pine needle-strewn ground and ran in the opposite direction of the monsters as fast as he could while craning his neck to make sure they didn't follow.
Instead of climbing down the tree and chasing him, he was horrified to see the trunk of the tree divide from the ground up several feet. It formed into two legs. Feet of roots pried themselves out of the earth and the tree started walking after him.
Makos turned to look the way he was running and hit his face on a thick branch. His momentum carried on through his legs, which slipped on layers of dry pine needles. He fell onto his back and bumped his head hard on the ground.
For a moment, all he could remember was that he had been running from something. He tried to recall what it was, but the dancing specks in his vision made it hard to concentrate. In a few seconds, his sight came back into focus and the nauseous feeling passed. The first thing he saw was a giant pine branch shaped like a hand reach over him to pick him up. Everything came back at once, including his terror.
Just as the green, bristly hand was beginning to wrap its fingers around him, a flash of light blinded him. His vision cleared a moment later and he saw the branch was severed from the rest of the monster tree, smouldering where it had been broken.
A loud, discordant scream shook the air. Makos twisted his neck further to see the giant tree holding its damaged arm with the remaining hand. "I'll eat you first!" The monsters roared.
"You don't even know where I am." A calm voice replied.
They giant tree turned its 'head' back and forth. The yellow eyes searched high and low, but didn't seem to be having any luck locating whoever had spoken. "Come out! Stop hiding. We're going to catch you either way, so just give up."
A child's laughter came from many directions, switching from left to right, far to near. Makos tried to find who was laughing and was surprised when he saw the silhouette of someone small dashing between the trees. The person moved so quickly, he could only see the after image like a blurry shadow, but couldn't manage to keep track of it the whole time, even though tree branches shook lightly wherever it went.
Eventually, the laughing stopped and the rustling of the trees calmed down. The same quiet voice spoke again. "My plans don't include you catching anything, so there goes your argument." More laughter broke out. The sky was beginning to darken, Makos noticed, and he could see several glowing dots of light amidst the trees surrounding the monsters' tree.
"What is this?" The monsters cried out, their voices quaking in anger. Makos thought he recognized a hint of fear in it.
"Give up." The hider spoke. "I will let you go if you promise to never touch the evergreen trees again."
"I won't." The monsters said. "Won't promise!" The tree swung its good arm into a nearby tree, breaking off many branches from one side, though the arm remained undamaged.
The glowing dots of light closest to the monsters burst into flames. The flames spread down to the ground and lit the dry needles. A large fire grew into a roaring wall in seconds. It moved toward the monstrous tree like a towering wave, ready to crash down at any second. The monstrous tree took several steps backwards before turning around completely and running to the other side of the ring of trees.
It was met by more dim lights bursting alight. In fact, the monstrous tree tried to escape from several directions, but was hindered by more fires. The childish laughter rang out again from one side of the fiery ring. "You should have promised."
It wasn't long before the terrible screaming finally stopped. Makos was frozen in fear. He stared as the tree fell to its knees while flames engulfed it.
When the monsters had been silent for several minutes, he fire weakened all over. In a few moments, it shrank from roaring walls to tiny flickers of flame licking the charred form of a tree skeleton.
Makos almost wandered out before he remembered he had no idea who had started the fires. He didn't know if whoever it was would be friendly or a new enemy.
After minutes had passed and nobody spoke from the shadows, Makos creeped out of his own hiding place under some low-sweeping pine branches.
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Interview #1
I feel like I need to flesh out my characters a bit more. Discovering them as I go is fun, but in order to get a feel for where they need to grow, I am going to do an interview with my characters that will reveal more about what matters to them and what are their weakness and strengths.
Interviewing Makos:
Q. What's your full name?
A. Makos Rendridge Highwhistle.
Q. How old are you?
A. I'm nine.
Q. What do you want to do when you grow up?
A. I'm going to tame dragons.
Q. Aren't dragons make-believe?
A. Yeah.
Q. Ok. Well, suppose you did something else. What would it be?
A. I want to find treasure.
Q. Like a pirate's treasure?
A. Yeah. Also treasure left behind by ancient civilizations.
Q. How are you going to find this treasure?
A. Well, I just have to tame a big enough dragon. Then I could name him 'Treasure Sniffer' or maybe 'Gold Scales.' We would fly around searching for it until he could smell it.
Q. Hmm. Sounds like you've planned this out.
A. Yeah. I'm good at planning.
Q. What do you like to do for fun?
A. I climb on top of big boulders.
Q. You don't climb trees?
A. Everyone does that. Boulders are more of a challenge. There's no branches.
Q. What do you do on top of a boulder?
A. Throw rocks at bullies.
Q. You throw rocks at them? Isn't that a little harsh?
A. Not really. Think about it. Would you rather get hit by a rock or a squirrel?
Q. ... I don't know.
A. I'd rather get hit by a rock. A squirrel can give you fleas, plus they bite and are unpredictable. With a rock, at least you know what you are getting. Much more humane.
Q. Are there many bullies that bother you?
A. Not anymore. I have a large stockpile of rocks on my boulders. If I run out, all I have to do is jump to another boulder.
Q. What do you do if they climb up on the boulder, too?
A. They can't. It's too hard.
Q. What about you? How are you able to climb them?
A. Hold on. Let me take off my socks.
Q. ...
A. See? I have extra long toes thanks to my dragon blood. I can grip the boulder with my hands and feet.
Q. Ah. Of course.
A. I can also breath fire.
Q. Really? Would you mind demonstrating?
A. Nah. It hurts to much.
Q. I guess that makes sense.
A. Yeah.
Q. Let's see. What's your favorite memory?
A. I remember going to see the fireworks parade in Gund with my family. That was back when my mom was still alive. There were explosions everywhere in all kinds of colors. They even let me light one of the big rockets. It was gold and green and sounded like an eagle.
Q. Do you miss your mom?
A. ...
Q. I'm sorry. It must be hard talking about her still.
A. It's OK. I do miss her. I just don't want to think about it.
Q. Alright. How about this: What's the best dream you've ever had?
A. Well, I haven't had it yet. I'm still working out the details, but it's going to be really good.
Q. You are designing your dream?
A. Of course.
Q. Hmm. What is it going to be about?
A. I don't want to spoil it, yet, but it will have a lot of dragons and treasure.
Q. I see.
A. It's going to be really good, though.
Q. What are you afraid of?
A. Nothing.
Q. Don't you get scared when it's dark?
A. Sure, but I don't let it bother me.
Q. So you feel fear, but you dismiss it?
A. No, I throw rocks at it if it makes noises. I have a lot of rocks under my pillow.
Q. Don't you get in trouble for throwing rocks in the house?
A. If it wakes Danos up, I just pretend to be asleep. He always thinks it was his nightmares or something and falls back to sleep.
Interviewing Makos:
Q. What's your full name?
A. Makos Rendridge Highwhistle.
Q. How old are you?
A. I'm nine.
Q. What do you want to do when you grow up?
A. I'm going to tame dragons.
Q. Aren't dragons make-believe?
A. Yeah.
Q. Ok. Well, suppose you did something else. What would it be?
A. I want to find treasure.
Q. Like a pirate's treasure?
A. Yeah. Also treasure left behind by ancient civilizations.
Q. How are you going to find this treasure?
A. Well, I just have to tame a big enough dragon. Then I could name him 'Treasure Sniffer' or maybe 'Gold Scales.' We would fly around searching for it until he could smell it.
Q. Hmm. Sounds like you've planned this out.
A. Yeah. I'm good at planning.
Q. What do you like to do for fun?
A. I climb on top of big boulders.
Q. You don't climb trees?
A. Everyone does that. Boulders are more of a challenge. There's no branches.
Q. What do you do on top of a boulder?
A. Throw rocks at bullies.
Q. You throw rocks at them? Isn't that a little harsh?
A. Not really. Think about it. Would you rather get hit by a rock or a squirrel?
Q. ... I don't know.
A. I'd rather get hit by a rock. A squirrel can give you fleas, plus they bite and are unpredictable. With a rock, at least you know what you are getting. Much more humane.
Q. Are there many bullies that bother you?
A. Not anymore. I have a large stockpile of rocks on my boulders. If I run out, all I have to do is jump to another boulder.
Q. What do you do if they climb up on the boulder, too?
A. They can't. It's too hard.
Q. What about you? How are you able to climb them?
A. Hold on. Let me take off my socks.
Q. ...
A. See? I have extra long toes thanks to my dragon blood. I can grip the boulder with my hands and feet.
Q. Ah. Of course.
A. I can also breath fire.
Q. Really? Would you mind demonstrating?
A. Nah. It hurts to much.
Q. I guess that makes sense.
A. Yeah.
Q. Let's see. What's your favorite memory?
A. I remember going to see the fireworks parade in Gund with my family. That was back when my mom was still alive. There were explosions everywhere in all kinds of colors. They even let me light one of the big rockets. It was gold and green and sounded like an eagle.
Q. Do you miss your mom?
A. ...
Q. I'm sorry. It must be hard talking about her still.
A. It's OK. I do miss her. I just don't want to think about it.
Q. Alright. How about this: What's the best dream you've ever had?
A. Well, I haven't had it yet. I'm still working out the details, but it's going to be really good.
Q. You are designing your dream?
A. Of course.
Q. Hmm. What is it going to be about?
A. I don't want to spoil it, yet, but it will have a lot of dragons and treasure.
Q. I see.
A. It's going to be really good, though.
Q. What are you afraid of?
A. Nothing.
Q. Don't you get scared when it's dark?
A. Sure, but I don't let it bother me.
Q. So you feel fear, but you dismiss it?
A. No, I throw rocks at it if it makes noises. I have a lot of rocks under my pillow.
Q. Don't you get in trouble for throwing rocks in the house?
A. If it wakes Danos up, I just pretend to be asleep. He always thinks it was his nightmares or something and falls back to sleep.
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Trouble
Makos' breath caught in his throat. Very slowly, he looked up. He didn't see anyone.
"Who's there?" He said, scrambling backwards. He tripped over his own feet and landed on his backside.
"Just me." The deep voice answered. Makos followed the sound high up into the top, sweeping, green branches of a large pine tree. There, peeking from under two boughs was a pair of big, yellow eyes. They were glowing from deep within the branches and about two feet apart, from what he could see.
Makos' jaw flapped open and closed. Nothing came out of his mouth, though.
Finally, he spoke, "W-who are you?"
The boughs lowered, concealing the eyes one at a time, and the voice replied, "Me? The name's Rory."
Makos was about to say something, but the voice cut him off. "Actually, I'm Ubert." The boughs lifted again and the yellow eyes stared down at him.
"What?" Makos asked. "Is it Rory or Ubert?"
"Rory." The voice paused. "Ubert." The boughs lowered again. A rumbling chuckle shook the whole tree.
Makos crossed his arms. "You're confusing." He stated.
The boughs lifted again and bent at angles to apear like angry eyebrows. "At least I'm not lost."
Makos frowned. "I'm not lost!" He exclaimed. "I'm just hiding."
"Oh." Rory-Ubert replied. "I suppose that means you're our guest, then."
"Our?" Makos said.
"My." The voice answered.
"Is there someone else here?" Makos asked.
"Just us."
Makos watched the yellow eyes look to the sides quickly before settling on him again. He wondered what exactly he was dealing with, so he asked. "What are you?"
"That's rude." The voice said. "He treats me like a monster. No he doesn't. He is just confused. He said so himself."
Makos saw the eyes cross while the right eyebrow bent into a scowl and the left curved in a worried expression. He almost laughed at the sight of it.
"Now he's mocking me!" Rory-Ubert said. "Calm down, he's just a kid. They don't get a sense of decency for a few years."
When Makos heard that he frowned even deeper, with angry eyebrows. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by it. I've just never seen anything like you before."
The tree shook to more chuckling, then leaned forward as if to get a closer look. "Yeah. I guess he is just a small brat still."
Makos grew even more frustrated. He didn't like it when Danos called him a kid. Hearing it from this strange tree wasn't consolation to him.
The tree bent down further. "Do you think he tastes better than normal?" The voice seemed to ask itself. "Maybe. You never know what an atittude like that will do to the flavor." Makos heard a loud sniffing noise and wind lifted his hair up.
Makos felt his blood go cold, and he crawled back a little further from the tree.
"Reminds me of that rotting goat carcass we found last October." Rory-Ubert said, leaning back a bit. "Yeah. I really enjoyed that one, too."
The tree leaned further in, this time. "I suppose a taste wouldn't hurt? Would it? Of course not. Hey kid," The tree called out, "Stick out your arm a bit, would you?"
The branches reached close enough to brush the top of his head. Panicking, Makos squeezed his eyes shut and swung his hands wildly in front of him.
"Yeah, like that. Now, hold 'em still."
Makos' eyes popped open. Why wasn't his power working? The tree should have been blown to pieces in an instant.
"Come on, play along." The tree said while both eyes stared at him intensely through the boughs.
In his terror, Makos noticed something. The eyes each belonged to a different face. Both faces had a huge eye socket planted right in the middle of a wrinkly forehead. Below that, mouths bore sharp fangs and tusks turning up on the left face and down on the right. Both were licking their tusks hungrily.
A drop of spittle stretched down and broke, landing on his hand. It smelled horrible.
"Who's there?" He said, scrambling backwards. He tripped over his own feet and landed on his backside.
"Just me." The deep voice answered. Makos followed the sound high up into the top, sweeping, green branches of a large pine tree. There, peeking from under two boughs was a pair of big, yellow eyes. They were glowing from deep within the branches and about two feet apart, from what he could see.
Makos' jaw flapped open and closed. Nothing came out of his mouth, though.
Finally, he spoke, "W-who are you?"
The boughs lowered, concealing the eyes one at a time, and the voice replied, "Me? The name's Rory."
Makos was about to say something, but the voice cut him off. "Actually, I'm Ubert." The boughs lifted again and the yellow eyes stared down at him.
"What?" Makos asked. "Is it Rory or Ubert?"
"Rory." The voice paused. "Ubert." The boughs lowered again. A rumbling chuckle shook the whole tree.
Makos crossed his arms. "You're confusing." He stated.
The boughs lifted again and bent at angles to apear like angry eyebrows. "At least I'm not lost."
Makos frowned. "I'm not lost!" He exclaimed. "I'm just hiding."
"Oh." Rory-Ubert replied. "I suppose that means you're our guest, then."
"Our?" Makos said.
"My." The voice answered.
"Is there someone else here?" Makos asked.
"Just us."
Makos watched the yellow eyes look to the sides quickly before settling on him again. He wondered what exactly he was dealing with, so he asked. "What are you?"
"That's rude." The voice said. "He treats me like a monster. No he doesn't. He is just confused. He said so himself."
Makos saw the eyes cross while the right eyebrow bent into a scowl and the left curved in a worried expression. He almost laughed at the sight of it.
"Now he's mocking me!" Rory-Ubert said. "Calm down, he's just a kid. They don't get a sense of decency for a few years."
When Makos heard that he frowned even deeper, with angry eyebrows. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by it. I've just never seen anything like you before."
The tree shook to more chuckling, then leaned forward as if to get a closer look. "Yeah. I guess he is just a small brat still."
Makos grew even more frustrated. He didn't like it when Danos called him a kid. Hearing it from this strange tree wasn't consolation to him.
The tree bent down further. "Do you think he tastes better than normal?" The voice seemed to ask itself. "Maybe. You never know what an atittude like that will do to the flavor." Makos heard a loud sniffing noise and wind lifted his hair up.
Makos felt his blood go cold, and he crawled back a little further from the tree.
"Reminds me of that rotting goat carcass we found last October." Rory-Ubert said, leaning back a bit. "Yeah. I really enjoyed that one, too."
The tree leaned further in, this time. "I suppose a taste wouldn't hurt? Would it? Of course not. Hey kid," The tree called out, "Stick out your arm a bit, would you?"
The branches reached close enough to brush the top of his head. Panicking, Makos squeezed his eyes shut and swung his hands wildly in front of him.
"Yeah, like that. Now, hold 'em still."
Makos' eyes popped open. Why wasn't his power working? The tree should have been blown to pieces in an instant.
"Come on, play along." The tree said while both eyes stared at him intensely through the boughs.
In his terror, Makos noticed something. The eyes each belonged to a different face. Both faces had a huge eye socket planted right in the middle of a wrinkly forehead. Below that, mouths bore sharp fangs and tusks turning up on the left face and down on the right. Both were licking their tusks hungrily.
A drop of spittle stretched down and broke, landing on his hand. It smelled horrible.
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