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Category Archives: Novel

Pilgrimage vs. Quest

What’s the difference between a pilgrimage and a quest? A pilgrimage is a journey to a holy place. A quest is a search. As I plan more of this story out, I’m beginning to think that it is a little bit of both.

I’ve been delving into the depths of my mind, and coming up with more characters. These men and women will be part of the initial caravan across the Sand Sea from Dhe’skuva to Dhe’laza. As I reflect more on it, I like the idea of Arsus and Rime traveling as part of a very large group at first. This merry band of pilgrims will quickly prove overwhelming for both of them, and they will set out on their own, only to be followed by a handful of other characters who will join them on their journey the remainder of the way across the desert. I’ve actually come up with the name (again, tentatively speaking) of one of the other characters. A female city guard from Dhe’skuva by the name of Landara. She will join the pilgrimage ostensibly to flee some gambling debts in the city. Along with her will be a character partially inspired by the legendary Harry Bailey, from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and partially inspired by a good friend of mine. If there’s going to be a pilgrimage, there needs to be a fat, borderline alcoholic innkeeper who goes along for shits and giggles. Also, his inn may or may not be destroyed in some of the chaos that will inevitably ensue before our heroes set out for the desert. So what has he got to lose? Rounding out the main cast will be another female character. If Landara is the strong, independent woman, there needs to be an initially more timid female character who learns from her, and eventually finds her own courage. She’ll have her own reasons for joining the pilgrimage as well, but I won’t go into those here tonight. Let it suffice to say that her growth as a character will potentially rival that of Arsus and Rime.

I think I’ve got the opening lines worked out now, too. The biggest difficulty I faced here was deciding which character in the story (if any that the reader sees) would be the narrator. I’ve not come up with a name for him yet, but I think he’ll provide a pretty unique perspective on things going on throughout the novel.

On an unrelated note, Randall Munroe is a genius. An evil genius, but a genius nonetheless.

As most of my readership is already aware, the literary world was struck by tragedy last week, when British author Brian Jacques passed away. Jacques was best known for creating the bestselling young adult Redwall series, though he also wrote several collections of short stories that took place in a more modern Britain. Jacques will be greatly missed. I consider myself quite lucky to have had the honor of meeting Mr. Jacques when I was in the 5th grade. I feel as though a large part of my childhood is now missing. Jacques wrote an incredible world. I am quite happy to have been able to spend as much time in Mossflower as I have. Quite frankly, I plan to share these books with my own children some day, perhaps as a stepping stone between the Chronicles of Narnia and the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings. Rest in peace, Brian. You will be greatly missed.

“The Writing Writer”

“In my presence you might wake
Through this fiction I must fake
Your death to grace the face of my character
With these lessons he might learn
That all worlds from here must burn
For as God demands in the end we miss.”

I love Coheed and Cambria. I’m greatly saddened that I’ve only listened to one of their albums, now that I realize how deep the story behind the whole discography goes.

Again, I find myself staring down a pair of days off.  It’s very strange. I have only worked one day out of the last five. I know that this is due to asking a coworker to cover a shift so that I could make it home, but still. It’s a little disconcerting to feel so thoroughly unemployed while still having a job. Today should be a day for filling out more job applications, but it’s more likely to see more creative writing than truly productive writing. That is the hope, anyway. In all honesty, I’d be quite happy if either of those plans works out.

As I (think) I have said, I recently returned home for the funeral of my great uncle. He and I shared a name, albeit spelled differently. Apparently, however, this caused no small bit of uproar in my hometown. See, I’m from a LITTLE town. Everyone knows everyone. So when a funeral notice went around town that happened to have my name on it, some people freaked out, thinking that yours truly had gone and kicked the bucket. It was an oddly funny bit of an experience to tack on to the sad circumstance of seeing family at a funeral. I can also now say that reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. 😀

Rime has haunting eyes. They shift from gray to blue to green, depending on the light and his mood. This is going to severely freak Arsus out the first time he sees it happen. They’re going to be a major part of his emotional displays. The man is dedicated to his beliefs, and when he sees something that challenges all that he holds to be good and true, his eyes are going to show the struggle going on within him. In a similar manner, when he’s asked to make a choice for the greater good, any character paying close attention will be able to see an almost wistful look in his eyes. I’m choosing the eyes because of how frequently I’m told that my eyes are incredibly expressive. Rime and I have a great deal in common. I think that this makes him the easiest and yet most difficult character to write. While I can easily write him as me, the question is how much of myself should I allow myself to write into him. Where do I need to draw the line between character and writer? Should he be the narrator? Which is a greater problem, faith without belief, or belief without faith? (Thank you, V).

One last thing before I head off to writing for today. One of my good friends is a musician, putting together a bunch of house/trance music. You can check out his soundcloud page and listen to all of his current tracks here.

 

Day 1: Part 2

And back to the blog.

Here I am again. After managing to somehow survive work today, despite a crazy man who claimed that I stole the $5 change I was supposed to have given him (a quick count of the cash register proved him wrong, thankfully), I am back at home. It’s nice to be able to come home to the apartment after a long day and finally get some dinner and a drink or two.

I’ve been spending a good deal of time thinking about this story I’m writing. I kind of wish I had more of it planned out in advance, but at the same time, I like to think that my first journey into this world will be far more similar to that of my future readers. Ideally, this means that I will be able to keep things from becoming too overwhelming/confusing for anyone other than myself. I want people to know how it felt as I was creating this world. I want it to feel lived in and rugged, but inviting to people who’ve never experienced anything quite like it (ideally, this will be all of my readers).

I hate when I read a novel and get overwhelmed with crap. I like something I’m reading to be accessible with a minimal level of extra effort required, especially if it’s the start of a series. If it’s a writer I’ve read before, there will be some level of tolerance. If it’s something that I already know, again, there will be tolerance. After all, “A Clockwork Orange” is still one of the best things I’ve ever read, despite the crazy dialogue and narration that goes along with the story of Alex and his droogs. I don’t, however, tolerate this kind of writing when it’s done pretentiously. If someone takes the trouble to create a language, they should make it useful, not just throw it in your face to say “OOOOO, look what I came up with!” Everything should have a purpose. Don’t give throwaway details. Make people question the intent of every line of dialogue, every description of every lamp and every passing dog. Create a visual that your reader can not forget. Forge something truly memorable. That’s my goal. I want to give my readers text that they desire. I want them coming back to my book every couple of years after they first read it and have them find something that they didn’t notice the time before.

At any rate, it’s time to write something before I fall asleep. As conviction becomes content, I shall post more.

Good morning, internet.

In an attempt to get a step closer to being a real writer, I’ve started this blog. One  of my best friends has already done this, and I’ve found that her work has greatly influenced my desire to write something worthwhile. To this end, I’m going to be posting here once a week or so, at least to get started.

This project is my first serious attempt at putting a cohesive novel together. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for years. I mean, I even put myself through four years of college to get better at writing and editing. It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that the characters I’ve wanted to write about for years finally introduced themselves to me. That sounds a little strange, but you see, they weren’t really characters until then. They were concepts. They were ideas that I liked, but they were not ready for the world. Now they’ve grown. They’re not quite yet ready for everyone to see just yet, but they’re ready for me to start to tell their story. I’m ready to tell their story. It’s going to be quite the journey for all of us. I’m going to force myself to write for a while at a time, even if it’s just jotting down some more concepts, bits of dialogue,  or even just a sentence or two that I like. It’s the whole process of writing that really does me any good. It’s not that EVERYTHING I write will be golden. Far from it, in fact. But if I do not write, I will never have anything to sift through to find that little bit of shiny.

I’ve written poetry before. Quite a bit of it in the last couple of years, in fact. That’s part of what keeps my deviantart page occupied, and I think I’ll keep that there, in it’s own place. This is going to be different from that. Most of it is complete rubbish, in my opinion, but there have been maybe a dozen that I actually really like, to the point of sharing them at poetry slams and open mic nights. It still terrifies me. Even with my background in theatre and public speaking, my legs still tremble every time I stand up to read a piece I wrote. I think it’s a matter of reading something aloud to a crowd that has so much of my own emotion placed into it. This is going to be vastly different from my poetry, though the final project may incorporate some bits of verse. The whole point is, though, that this is going to be bigger. Even as an English major, the biggest paper I’ve ever been required to write was about 15 pages. I want this to be at least 300. That’s only 20 or so times the amount of pages as the longest piece I’ve ever written. How hard can it be?

Okay, I’m kidding myself there. I know that it’s going to be a challenge. The benefit of having written lots of things in the past, however, is that I can pull bits of inspiration, character, plot, and even setting from some of my short stories and essays I’ve done. I’m setting a goal today. I want to write a minimum of 500 words per day. More than that, and I can reward myself for a job well done. If I can continue to produce stuff at that rate, I’ll up it. It’s going to depend on my free time and state of employment.

At any rate, it’s time for me to do some real writing (no offense intended, fellow bloggers). Before I go, I’ll again take a page out of my friend’s book and explain the title of this blog. You see, some time ago I found a photo of several swords sticking in the ground. They were worn, rusted, pitted, and had clearly been there for some years. The extreme angle of the photo, however, made them seem absolutely massive. Every time I see this photo, I feel utterly insignificant. After staring at this image for several minutes, I began to envision a long-forgotten society to whom these giant weapons had been just that: the weapons of giants. Maybe they wandered out of the world. Maybe they died. For whatever reason, they left their swords embedded in the earth. Centuries later, a new race of (far smaller) people find them, and are utterly bemused by their presence. They are a mystery left behind by people far different from the people who inhabit the world in which this story will occur. There is some great fantasy in the making, here, my friends. I’ll share what I can with you. Hopefully some day I can take you to where you can gaze out over the valley and see the swords of the ancients for yourselves.