Craft of Writing - Staring at the Page.

"The best way to become a successful writer is to read good writing, remember it, and then forget where you remember it from." ~ Gene Fowler

At one point in time, I was told that we never write anything truly original. I was told that all the stories had been told and that all we were doing was rehashing earlier material with our own spin on it. That concept that the well of ideas was a limited data set never sat right with me. On days like today when I look at the blank page and I am feeling overwhelmed, that quote comes back up to gnaw on me. It does a great deal to throw a damper on my excitement for writing and ratchet up my anxiety.

I try to keep the stuff I have read in the past in mind. The good is what I uphold as my idols to emulate. The bad is what I use to remind myself that I can do better. Somewhere along the line, I find myself feeling like I'm just stuck in mediocrity. It is a painful place to be. I hate to admit it, but I want desperately to be special. I want to be someone that is upheld by others as a positive role model. I want to be the next great innovator of the craft.

They're rather insane goals to hold. Well, ok, the role model one may not be an insane goal to have. But the idea that I could some how bring a great innovation to the craft of writing is something that edges into grandiose egoism. I struggle with my voice and I struggle with my confidence. It is hard for me to see anything Earth shattering coming from this place I'm in right now. Still, I refuse to give up.

Perhaps I should work on stealing a page from Oscar Levant's book:

"There is a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased this line."

The Iron Lily (Part 6)

Halthor tended the fire as his companion stretched out on her cloak. Out the corner of his eye, the builder watched her set her bowl down. The dog trotted up to the bowl and sniffed at it. As she ran a hand over the dog's back, the thin creature began to lap up the remnants of the thin soup that had served as their meal. She watched the dog with her tawny eyes, looking more concerned with the dog's state than Halthor.

She said something in the strange language that she had earlier. The dog paused in bolting down gobbets of meat. As it sniffed the air, the woman slowly began to sit up. The dog moved closer to her. Carefully, she picked up the dog and cradled it in her lap. Lightly, her hands ran over it as she began to sing. Halthor sat on the sleeping platform. A pang of guilt washed over him at keeping his companion from the warmth of it. He coughed slightly.

The woman continued her song and ignored him. Halthor heard the wind blowing hard outside. The woman paused in her caressing of the dog to reach up and take hold of the rope handle of the door behind her. She pulled it more firmly shut before turning back to the dog that was curled up in her lap. When she resumed her song, she looked from the dog to Halthor. "Nict ist longe," she said, "Sleap." Halthor looked at the sleeping platform and back to her. She shook her head and pointed at where she sat.

Halthor silently questioned if the woman would steal his goods or otherwise try to do him harm. He reached up to touch the hidden talisman beneath his tunic and felt the charm that the strange woman had given him. Decided that someone who had given him the means to hide the king's talisman and warned him of the black priests waiting down the road was not someone that would do him evil as he slept, Halthor laid down on the platform. With his cloak wrapped around him, Halthor soon found himself drifting off to sleep.

He dreamed of Starhaven. In his dreams, it was late at night. The builder's guild walked through the streets from the guild house with torches. Behind them, young men bore Aleric's body wrapped in a shroud on a board between them. They walked with a stately pace beneath the cold light of the high stars and fading moons. A man beat a drum as they walked as another played the shrill pipes that Aleric had always hated. The procession moved from the guild house to the northern wall of the city. They then laid the body upon a bier. Halthor ran through the procession but men passed him by as though he were a ghost. A flagon of oil was poured over the master builder's lifeless body as someone chanted the litany of Aleric's ancestors. Halthor watched helplessly as the masters of the guilds each laid their torch against the bier. As the flames crackled and popped, Halthor screamed.

He woke with a start with his cry of agony on his lips. The first thing that struck Halthor was that the traveler's rest was cold. He sat up and saw thin fingers of light reaching around the door. Halthor realized that it was at least a few hours after dawn and he had lost valuable travel time. He looked around his shelter and discovered that the mysterious woman had gone sometimes as he slept. Halthor looked to his belongings and found everything remained as it was when he fell asleep. He picked up his cloak and wrapped it around himself to ward off the chill. As he set his pack on his shoulder, he heard a noise outside the door.

Halthor walked over to it and opened it. He winced at the brightness of the daylight. The pony stood near the door, pawing at the earth. Halthor stared at the pony trying to determine what it seemed to queer. Then he realized that the saddle was upon her back and all but the bag that laid close to him was loaded and lashed in their proper place. Halthor counted the bags. All was accounted for and seemed to be in proper order. He looked around for the dog. When he didn't see the perked red ears bounding through the snow, Halthor decided that perhaps the woman had taken the dog with her.

He turned back to pick up his pack. The dog's happy yip startled him. Halthor looked to where the lowest point of the sloping roof was. There, he found his canine companion stretching and seemingly waking from its own rest. Halthor realized as he looked at the dog that the dog's coat was sleek and it no longer looked to be a painfully neglected animal. Halthor shook his head with confusion. He walked over and picked up his bag. "Come on, you," he said to the dog as it trotted up to him.

Halthor stepped out and secured his pack to the pony. With a little effort, he managed to mount the patient creature. Giving the beast its head, Halthor rode back to the royal road. The dog bounced merrily at his side. When he was again moving southward along the royal road, Halthor wondered what he was going to do about the black priests. The road sharply began to climb up a steep hill. The sure footed pony walked up the rise with surprising ease. Halthor looked back and realized he couldn't see Wye behind him anymore.

He turned his attention back to the path before him. A part of him insisted he should turn back for Starhaven. Troubled by the dream from the night before, Halthor felt the pains of homesickness even sharper than he had the day before. The path leveled out and Halthor wondered how much farther it was until he reached another traveler. After a time, he began to get uncomfortable with how the pony jostled him with her steps. Halthor dismounted and walked, holding the pony's halter. The cold seeped into his boots and began to make his feet ache. Halthor's stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had not eaten.

Halthor paused and looked up at the sky. Though low clouds were filling in from the west, he realized that it was drawing close to midday. Halthor took one of the sacks of grain and began to arrange it for his mount to feed. He was partly through the process of getting it settled when the dog barked. Halthor looked over at the piebald animal. The dog barked again in a tone of greater urgency as it stared southward. Halthor looked in the direction that the dog was. He squinted but couldn't see anything untoward ahead of them on the road. Halthor nudged the dog with the toe of his right boot. "Quit it," he said, "It's just the wind." The dog looked up at him and then back to the south.

Halthor shook his head. He dug into his pack and pulled out the remnant of the day before's loaf of bread and a lump of hard cheese. Halthor broke off a chunk of cheese and tossed it to the dog. As the dog began to worry at the cheese, Halthor ate his food and questioned how long it would be before the weather became unpleasant. Halthor finished his food and stepped off the road to tend to the necessities of nature when the dog began to bark again. He was in the midst of tying his belt about his waist when the dog's barking changed to growl of warning. Halthor rushed out of the trees.

He looked towards where the dog was staring. A large cat was padding towards them. Halthor swore softly to himself as he took hold of the hand axe that was given to him in Wye.

Word-smithing In Progress!

I may not be slaving over an anvil and forge right now. The act of writing is generally less physically labor intensive as black-smithing. Still, I am at work on generating words and putting them into correct order. Today, the majority of my work was off line. I am not entirely pleased with my work, to be honest. I feel that the vast majority of what I produced today was dross.

Still, I am putting in the effort and plying my trade as best I can. Blog posts have been difficult for me because I simply wasn't sure what to share. Spending several days trying to write your way out of a creative hole is not exactly much fun. It also does not lead to entertaining reading. (I did have some vexation over shenanigans I was witness to on the internet earlier this week. It lead to my writing my first script ever. It is a very off the cuff and rough bit. Still, if you want to take a look here is the link. It is satire and there is a bit of adult language.)

Right now, I am steadily working through the process of getting a manuscript ready for publication. I think that I am nearing the final stages of the editing process. Line edits are painfully tedious but necessary part of the process. I find myself optimistic that the text is ready. The next major step is the development of covers and the blurb. I will be posting previews of the covers when I have them ready. It will be a few weeks.

I am a loss for how to proceed on a few projects relating to the world of the Umbrel Chronicles. I think, however, inspiration will come. At the very least, I will find a solution through the sheer volume of work that I will write until I reach that point of inspiration.

The Iron Lily (Part 5)

Halthor didn't like the way the grey pony he rode jostled him with each step. He did not enjoy the bracing cold air that made his face hurt and his breath turn to ice in his beard. He especially did not like how the sun's light was nearly blinding off of the snow on the fields as he rode south. The dog's white coat made her hard to spot when her head was low. Though the ruddy tip of her tail whipped back and forth like some sort of flag when ever Halthor stopped and dismounted, for that was when the dog scampered and jumped. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Halthor was enjoying the comical company of his canine companion.

Wye was just a dirty smudge in the distance that he could see if he craned his neck just right when he was on the back of the pony. Now, however, he was walking southward, holding the pony's lead as the dog ran excitedly around him. The brilliant blue sky seemed unnaturally so to Halthor. The silence of the wood made him uncomfortable. What perhaps made him most uncomfortable was the fact that it wasn't an absolute silence. He could hear noises of animals and of snow falling off of the high branches of the trees. The wind made an eerie sigh through those branches, and blew about his cloak just enough to send a knife of cold through him where his coat had a gap in the front.

"Bugger it all," Halthor muttered, "Where am I going to find a dry place to sit and eat?" The pony's ear's flicked back as he spoke. She then stopped walking. Halthor pulled on the lead but the equine did not move. "Come on," he snapped, "We've got leagues to go before dark." The pony pulled hard on the lead and jerked the rope out of Halthor's hands. She then turned and began walking into the trees. "God rotting beast," Halthor snarled before stomping after it. As Halthor began to catch up to the pony, she tossed her head and walked faster on some sort of path that was buried in the snow. "Get back here!" he shouted. The dog barked loudly.

Soon, they reached a clearing with a low, ramshackle structure built on the leeward side of the boulder on the far side of the clearing where they entered. The pony walked to the side of the building and pawed at the snow. Halthor approached and wondered who cared for this place. As he drew closer to it, he realized it was far more sturdy than it had seemed when he first laid eyes on it. The rough hewen logs that at first looked so haphazardly thrown together revealed that they were joined together by the builder with some competence. Between the gaps of the logs, Halthor saw the ruddy clay that served as mortar and the bark applied over it. While the bark was peeling, enough of it remained that from a distance the building seemed entirely fashioned of wood. A door stood on the far side of the building, which Halthor discovered as he walked about it.

The handle was a length of weathered, braided cord passed through a hole in the door and looped over a peg to hold it closed. Snow was piled before the entrance, but the boulder managed to prevent much of a drift from forming. Halthor dug away some of the snow and pulled the door open. It was dark inside the building after the bright light of the day. when he stepped in and his eyes adjusted, Halthor found the shelter was clean and dry. A rough platform for sleeping lay near the clay fireplace. He leaned down and looked closely at the fireplace. He nodded slightly with appreciation of the anonymous builder's skill when he realized that they had diverted a measure of the chimney to pass under the sleeping platform, thus warming it from below. Looking at the sloping windward wall, the traveling builder could see random graffiti and markings left by those who had passed by before him through this traveler's rest.

Halthor walked out into the day. He found the grey pony waiting near the door. He patted her nose. "I suppose I was wrong about you," he said, scratching her behind her ears. The dog trotted into the traveler's rest. As it sniffed its way around the one room structure, the tail continued to wag happily, possibly a bit faster than it was when chasing the pony. Halthor took the packs off of the pony's back and carried them into the traveler's rest. As he set them down, he looked in the ones that the bailiff of Wye had given him. Finding two bags of grain that Toby had somehow managed to load on the pony with out Halthor's realization, the builder opened one and brought it out to the pony.

Awkwardly, Halthor gave the pony her feed. He walked back into the shelter and saw the dun and white colored dog sniffing at his bags. The auburn haired man knelt beside the underfed dog and sighed. He opened the pack he had brought from Starhaven and pulled out some of the leathery strips of jerky that were near the top of the stack of food within. He tossed two to the dog, which immediately turned into the red eared dog snapping it up and worrying at it. Halthor sat down on the sleeping platform and began to chew meditatively on his strip of jerky. He considered the distance he had come and found himself feeling troubled.

"I've never been this far before," he said out loud. The dog didn't look up from the strip of jerky it was gnawing on. "I hope that Aleric is all right," he continued, as though the dog had taken interest, "I'm sure that he's well. The weather hasn't been harsh. And I know that the king's men have been bringing him wood to work with. The scraps are more than enough for him to keep warm with. I don't know if bumble footed Ruah is actually going to be useful, though. He's a bad apprentice, drinking most of his wages. I'm sure Aleric will find away to keep him straight." Halthor sighed.

He set his strip of jerky on his knee and opened the wineskin that Aleric insisted he carry. Taking a drink of the surprisingly potent stuff, Halthor considered the bailiff's warning. Halthor had moved the hammer to resting in his sack with his other tools. The worn axe that Griff handed him now hung at his side. Halthor found himself curious if the small axe had chopped more than wood in its use by its previous owner. The wind grew sharply louder and the door swung slightly as a gust blew in. Halthor looked towards the door.

Outside, the sky had begun to dim as clouds piled up. Halthor fixed the stopper in the wineskin and walked out the door. He looked up at the sky and frowned. "That doesn't look good," he muttered. The dog trotted up to him and sniffed at the bit of jerky in his left hand. Halthor looked down at the hungry creature. "Eh, here," he said, "I've got wood to cut." He tossed the jerky towards the interior of the traveler's rest and the dog darted after it. Halthor stepped out into the clearing and the pony lifted her head from where he had the feed bag propped up in the snow. "You don't know where there's dry wood, do you?" he said as he patted her neck.

The pony turned and started to walk towards the treeline. Halthor shook his head in amazement. "Gods strike me," he said, "I think you do." He followed the grey animal until they reached a thicket. A mound stood a short distance into the trees. The pony walked up to it and pawed at the snow covering it. Halthor moved to the mound and dug in the snow. Soon, he reached what seemed a pile of leaves. As he pushed the leaves aside, he found a large piece of leather. With some effort, Halthor pried the stiff material up and was rewarded with a pile of firewood. "Who tends this rest?" he muttered as he picked up an armload of the material before letting the flap he lifted fall back.

Halthor made his way back to his shelter and soon had a small fire going in the hearth. He was pleasantly surprised to see that his canine companion did not go digging through the sack with his food in it for more dried meat. Instead, the dog had sat waiting at the doorway, chewing on the strip of jerky that he had given it. As Halthor built the fire, he heard the wind whistling around the chimney top that was built against the boulder. After a bit of work, Halthor had his fire and a pot of snow melting over it.

When the door of the shelter opened, Halthor looked over. His pot of snow was nearly fully melted and he was in the middle of pulling out some of the dried roots that Aleric had given him for soup stuff. A woman dressed in heavy furs and woolens that were dusted with snow stepped in to the shelter. Halthor started to stand. In her right hand, she held a bow that was unstrung and in her left, a brace of rabbits that had been skinned and cleaned for the pot. She motioned towards Aleric's old pot with the rabbits. Halthor moved to the side and she walked up and carefully deposited them.

She pushed back her hood and Halthor saw that her skin was as pale as one of the noblewomen he had seen at Starhaven. Her eyes were a tawny gold and her hair was almost the color of polished maple. As the mysterious woman walked to the door to secure it more firmly against the blowing wind, Halthor said, "Are you traveling north?" The woman turned to face him. She gestured north and then pantomimed walking three times. "You are going to Starhaven?" Halthor asked. The woman shook her head and held up five fingers. "Five days?" he asked. The woman nodded. "That will bring you to the edge of the high mountains. It is a hard road there. They say that fey things live there. Men come back changed when they go past them."

The woman gave a small laugh. Halthor looked at the pot and sighed. The woman reached into the pouch she wore on her belt. She pulled out a folded packet of parchment.  Thrusting it into Halthor's hands, she walked over to sit beside the door. The dog trotted up to her. She began to pet it and the dog made a happy noise before flopping on the dirt floor for belly rubs. Halthor opened the mysterious packet and found a small quantity of sharply scented powder within it. He touched the tip of his little finger to his tongue and then the finger to the powder. As he tasted it, he recognized the spicy bite of fireweed. The woman motioned towards the pot. Halthor added the spice and noted that the pot conveniently began to boil shortly afterwards.

Halthor sat down on the sleeping platform. His companion tapped her chest. Halthor looked at her in confusion. She did so again and he looked down at himself, wondering if something about his clothes was amiss. The woman moved towards him and began to draw in the loose earth. He soon found himself looking at the image of a stag's head with a line drawn through the tines of the antlers. Halthor's blood chilled as his mind went to the talisman he wore beneath his shirt. Unable to keep the look of surprise and concern from his face, Halthor looked at the woman before him numbly.

She made a dismissive gesture and rubbed out the image she had drawn. Haltingly, she said, "Fadur sends me." Realizing that he didn't understand her, the woman began to draw a series of images on the ground. From her pictures, Halthor realized that someone had sent her north looking for someone.

"Me?" he asked. The woman nodded. Halthor shifted in his seat. He attempted to stealthily reach for the small axe beside him. The woman noticed his motion and held her hands up in a gesture of surrender. She moved to sit beside the door again. Halthor looked at her warily. The woman opened the clasp of her cloak and spread it upon the ground. She sat down upon it. She drew forth from beneath the neckline of her own coat a pendant. It was a flat, round stone. Bowing her head, she took the pendant off and held it out to him. When Halthor made no motion towards her, she looked at the dog.

She said something in a language that sounded almost like his own but also birdlike. The dog sat up and looked intently at her. She set the cord of the necklace in the dog's mouth and it carried the affair over to Halthor. He took it from the dog and looked down at it. Engraved on the disk was a stylized bird with some kind of ribbon over its eyes, blindfolding it. Halthor looked over at the woman. She pantomimed putting the necklace on. Warily, Halthor did so. Suddenly, he felt the weight of the king's talisman vanish. Halthor gasped and pulled the pendant the woman had given him off. As the cord snapped at the back of his neck, the crystal talisman returned.

The woman again mimed putting on the necklace. Halthor did so and the curious sensation returned. "Blak sonnes waht en sur," the woman said. Halthor looked down at the pendant. Though the rabbit broth was fragrant and his stomach rumbled, Halthor discovered he had no appetite. The woman's words sounded strange, but Halthor knew what she meant. The black priests were waiting farther down the road. He looked up from the pendant.

"How many days?" Halthor asked. The woman held up one finger. He looked down at the small axe at his side. His stomach twisted. The thought of possibly having to fight for his life on the morrow made him feel sick. The woman motioned towards the steaming pot with a gesture of urgency. Halthor looked over and discovered that the rabbits were cooked. As he dipped his long handled spoon into the pot, the woman approached with a pair of cunningly wrought bowls. She offered one to Halthor. He spooned the broth into each, making sure that they both had a goodly portion of the cooked rabbits. Halthor took his horn spoon out from the pouch on his hip.

He pushed the meat around and tried not to think of Matias's ruined face. The woman reached out and touched his wrist. Halthor looked over. She put her spoon to her lips. Halthor nodded and began to eat. As he did so, he worried about what the next day was going to bring and what more his new companion was going to do.

Promo... wut?

I don't have any new volumes out to exhort you to read. I don't have any nifty blogs to connect you to right now. I am really batting 0 out of 1000 at the moment. Sorry about that.

On the plus side, however, I saw around 16 birds at the three bird feeders in my front yard today. I felt almost like a Disney princess as I sat there attempting to come up with something to post or write. I had very little luck in the writing department but the goldfinches were charming.

New Writing Buddy!

I don't share enough pictures on here. So, I have decided so indulge in a bit of whimsy tonight. Here is the picture of my newest writing buddy. I have sitting on the desktop computer a one-eyed elephant beanie baby. He's named Odin. He happens to be neon pink and he has an aftermarket eye patch that I made from a bit of brown plaid ribbon. It is his left eye that is missing, but I'm not going to be worrying about the authenticity of the little plush pachyderm.

On the tag for my dragon buddy (who is an order of magnitude larger than the elephant, which is proper for all things) the name given is Darla. I'm not feeling much love for this name. Thus, I have decided that they require a new name. Despite being pink with sparkles, the dragon is not female. Nope, this is a gender fluid pushie who is sparkly because of how awesome they are. I ask you, my readers, to suggest names for this mascot! Post your suggestion in the comments. :)

Flora et Fauna: Exotic Plants & Animals

This week's post about the wildlife and plant life of Evandar is a departure from previous posts where I featured an individual species. There is a very wide array of plants and animals in this world. The geography is varied and the biosphere is complex. This is something that we should expect in any world. Sometimes, plants and creatures from parts of the world are brought out of their native regions and to a place that is less hospitable. Like in our world, this creates challenges to animal husbandry and horticulture with these exotic species.

A thriving trade system that ferries these exotics from their respective native regions to elsewhere is both a thing of great financial challenge and reward. There are parties who view the ability to bring rare specimens to their clients as a thing to boast about. This, however, is something that is only valuable if you can actually deliver the goods. In some cases, the methods of transport will have a high cost in supplies for their specialized cargo. In other cases, the cost is in the acquisition of that cargo is going to be high and securing it against people who would steal it is very much a thing to be concerned with.

While the technology for thing such as hot houses is not common, they are not unheard of. It is partly a thing of technological effort and partly a thing of arcane practice. As such, when a person of high degree has some type of exotic plant or animal that requires such specialized care, they are viewed with a mixture of awe and suspicion. The common person lacks knowledge of such creatures and generally views them as mythical. And mythical creatures are almost unilaterally beings that are regarded with fear in this world.

Interestingly, exotic plants are not regarded with quite the same degree of suspicion. They would be assumed to be poison as a general rule, but there would be less fear of somehow getting involved in an otherworldly mess. There will also be far more production of faux product with the exotic plants. The idea of plants being 'safer' than animals is rooted in the mythology that says the plants are the result of the efforts of the benevolent deities. Animals, however, have the potential of being tangled up with the malevolent deities.