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My Journal describing my thoughts behind the stories. |
| And so the Journey, the Journal, begins... |
| First, with this issue of my blog I’d like to thank groovygirl for the awardicon. They really do make a difference, those small things in life. It was a nice feeling. It’s interesting to go back and re-read this blog and see phases of my life exposed. Needless to say, those various adventures are partially responsible for my lack-of-writing while I desired the contrary. Writing is the skill I desire so it’s time to dig in and sharpen that blade. I’d also like to thank ember_rain for her upfront manner of reviewing. Indeed, it’s nice to hear that others find the ideas fascinating, or that they liked a particular scene, but it’s important to hear what readers do NOT like–or where we fall short as writers (or to recognize failures that I didn’t even know were failures). I prefer to be told where I need work as opposed to reinforcement, if given a choice. That desire for self-improvement generally means going through the grinder to get to the gold. At least, that’s how I see it. With that said, as an amateur writer it’s difficult to get the ball rolling. What direction do I go for this or that? What do I need to work on? Like other skills and professions it’s likely that we hobbyists, amateurs, or newbies overcompensate for a perceived failing. For instance, “Show don’t tell.” ember_rain was kind enough to point out that the devil is in the details–both not enough detail and TOO MUCH detail. To me that meant one must find the moderate middle ground to bring out the story. It’s like Vitamin D. Not enough and we severely injure our chances of long-lived and healthy lives. Too much and we develop hip problems and even cancer. Mastery, therefor, in the sense of a novel isn’t so much about some in-depth stroke of the brush through a wide reaching lexicon, but rather the proper management of resources: scene, character, action, and plot development. These are resources available to a writer to fashion a story, and thinking of the resources in this manner, for some reason, has completely altered how I look at tackling a novel or story. One day at a time and one foot in front of the other. It might be a slow journey, but when you look back you might be surprised at how far you’ve traveled. Here is a saying that just popped into my head that I like. (Why not, what are blogs for if not putting down our thoughts?) “Your words fly up, your thoughts below, Words without thoughts are words alone.” |
| There is something fulfilling about the Epic story I’m writing. You see, I’ve been working on it since I was 12 years old (on or around). It started out as some random child-conjured dragon warfare, but soon a darker twist took hold. Then, after a few bad things happened, I realized it’s the only consistent thing IN my life; a story that has yet to be fully written, let alone published. In my later teens I shelved the Epic when I joined the military and achieved more experience than I could ever hope to achieve anywhere else. I worked with and ran with Special Forces, became an intelligence guru as a tactical and strategic consultant, and finally I got tired of all the death and despair and moved West (current). I’ve worked on the piece here and there throughout all of that, but I find short stories much easier to write (whether they’re any good is another matter). Alas, as I grow and I go back and re-read the story there are chunks of EXPERIENCE missing. The story became cardboard as I grew in dimensions. There is no intrigue, backstabbing, or maneuvering. Each character could replace the others, as there seems to be little or no depth. This blog and the few years I’ve been on WDC show how inconsistent this journey has been, but the fact remains: I haven’t given up on it. Indeed, I find myself worried about a potential completion of the work. This story and wondering about the characters and the different aspects of history has been my safe haven for a long while (and I’ve had my share of bad times). It’s possible that this is getting in the way of progressing through the story. Now is a different chapter of my life. Just moved out West, things are looking good, and I don’t have to deal with death on such a scale anymore. My eyes have turned back to the grand adventure. Right away I’ve spotted two major issues: my protagonist is reactive and not well motivated given the story characteristics, and my antagonist isn’t nearly clever enough for what he achieves. Another issue: there is no intrigue. True, conquering the world with MAGIC might not require intrigue, but given that his character is supposedly manipulative – that’s a FAIL of an oversight. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead.” (Shakespeare's Henry V, Act III, 1598) |
| Mixing it up Today was a rather random, although light-spirited, day. I did not have much going on so I decided to spend the afternoon People Watching at a local Café. As usual I picked a random booth seat with a good view and began by narrowing my pool of victims (I regard them as much because I attempt to analyze their personality, and in all reality who likes being analyzed to such extent?), which I normally do by deciding what type of personality I’d like to assess (sometimes I search for a personality that closely mimics a character in one of my stories, or sometimes I just choose the most abstract attention-grabbing soul). Viola! In short order I noticed a young woman sitting by herself in the middle of the room, ostensibly reading a book, but her eyes shifted too often for the initial assumption to fit. Well, well, well, she could be People Watching, too. I needed a framework to verify my observation so I did a quick once-over without giving myself away (although it did strike me that, as a woman, she already noticed, oh well). She wore rather well-to-do attire, one of those thinner close-fitting sweat shirts, dark and striped, another layer over that, which I assumed to be a fashionable vest (didn’t study her long enough to come to that conclusion), a brown scarf with stylish waves on it, a jacket hanging over a chair beside her fit the color theme, so I assumed it was hers, dark pants, and imitation leather shoes. (You can tell by the fraying ends, or blade cuts, of the “leather”). Fashionable, financially aware of limitations, yet observes the time to do it up proper. Her hairstyle was lengthy layers with waves and very subtle highlights. Subtle highlights, interesting, I looked her over again. The second time I took a longer eye-grab, instead of being analytical I assessed her as any normal guy (hot or not?). Shameless, I know, but I’m a member of that species and that’s part of the program. I would have given her a seven on my rating scale, which altered my assumption. The close-fitting sweater, the amplifying vest, the attention-grabbing but loose fitting scarf, and how she sat with a straight back all indicated something else. If you’re People Watching you don’t go through great strides to look just-right, actually you should go through strides to blend in – the point is to not be noticed. Suddenly her choice of seating contradicted my initial assumption as the center of the room is not the best choice. True, she could be an amateur of Social Analysis, just now stretching her wings, but that didn’t fit the aura. So I glanced at her book – The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry – and I scowled. Cliché. A woman in a coffee shop reading poetry – how spectacular – she gave me an itch to write a bland and repetitive romance novel. So she was fishing, waiting for someone, or wished to be observed as sophisticated, or all three. The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry, though, was an in-your-face rebellious screw-the-rules observation of poetry. I couldn’t help but relish in the contrast with her demeanor. A good level of insecurity, then, perhaps even repressed feelings or observations. A rebel, at heart, and a conformist on the surface: how many layers does this onion have? She was at war with herself, but which side was winning? If she were there for that purpose, the glancing around supports the insecurity measure, as does her random nervous tapping on the back of her book. I stopped. She wasn’t doing that when I first initiated my observations. Damn it all to hell – I’ve been caught. It was an awkward moment for me because usually I don’t get caught, but the dichotomy of her indicators caught me in a matter of brain-storming. Usually I bring my leather-bound notebook, my Parker fountain pen, and I exude a far-off expression as I randomly glance around. (Sometimes I choose a window seat and just look lost in thought). However, I hadn’t been jotting anything down for a few solid moments and although I was looking up and thinking things through, I had looked at her once-too-often. So she noticed that I noticed, and if she’s fishing, given my theory is correct and considering that I’m a male, this could be a bit uncomfortable. The trap wasn’t apparent to me because I was in analysis mode. She hadn’t turned a page since I sat down, now that I recollect, and that was just an obvious misnomer. The finger tapping indicated impatience with a scenario I never intended to begin with. Of course, she could also be a lesbian. I paused and glanced around the whole room, but there were no worthy candidates. Not that I expected any. So that pushes a throwback to support my conclusion. Well, might as well see what I can learn from her. It’s not often you’re given the opportunity to verify such observations. Calmly I wrapped the leather cord around my notebook and capped my fountain pen and carefully put them back into my small case. I stood and did a bit of a stretch, she didn’t move, but her neck tensed ever-so-slightly when I got up to leave. Knew it! Being right does offer a sense of self-validation. A good self-pat on the back never hurt anyone. “Rebellious.” She looked up, “Excuse me?” “That book of poetry is self-described as rebellious, rule-breaking. I kind of like it.” She smiled, “Yeah, I just got it. The cover caught my eye.” Neat designs do that. Pleasure hound? Maybe. “So whatcha doing reading a rebellious poetry book in a café?” “Oh, I enjoy it! All the hub-bub and background noise put me at ease. It helps me let go of the day’s stress. How about you? Most people at least buy coffee at a coffee shop.” Warning, Warning! I was almost willing to believe her until she said, “put me at ease,” which was quickly followed by the word “stress.” So ease may be as uncommon as stress-free. Her nervous tapping that caught my attention also contradicted her sentiment. Coffee? Damn, how did I overlook that obvious step? Fool! Not much to do now but tell the truth. “People watching.” “Oh. Why do you do that?” “It’s amazing what you can learn about people by just watching them. Mostly you observe body language and indicators like what kind of clothes they wear, jewelry, watches, and stuff like that. I like it because I figure body language is the only language that is honest by default.” “Sounds pretty cool. Learn anything new?” “Yeah, contrasting elements are revealing. Do you come here often?” She blushed, “Well, no. This is my first time here.” “Right on. Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, but I got to run.” I meant this literally, as I work out two hours a day. Internally I always chuckle at my stupid double-meanings, but I never explain them – well, until now. Luck you. She looked putout, but was polite about it. Gah! Close call. Unnerving So later, about two hours ago, I begin writing on a character that can control Death by thinking it and he’s experimenting with the level of his newfound power. As I finished my word goal I stopped, got up, made myself a drink and came back to breeze over what I had just written. (A habit of mine) Then I shuddered, my character did something I never considered for him – it seemed completely out of place, but I immediately knew how it could tie-in to the rest of the story. So my question is this: is it normal for a character to do something unexpected from an author’s perspective? It’s a bit unnerving, once you get into the rhythm of whipping up words on page that elements you may have never consciously considered take root. It’s feels like borderline Multiple Personality Disorder, perhaps that feeling is normal, I’m not sure, but it sure does give an itch. |
| Let us Venture In lieu of a more curious hyperbole, let us venture to say that I’m a writer. Writers write, which makes sense to me, but there are writers aplenty, powerful authors few. To say I’m a powerful author is such an extreme to be nothing less than an outright lie. Imparting that I’m a novelist or anything close is equally as depraved. I can string words together, sometimes they’re coherent, but I’m as flawed grammatically as I am literally. What am I? Dichotomous, yes, that appears obvious. A waste of time…? I cannot disagree, in the context being discussed, but I also cannot agree. I love to write, as flawed as it maybe, thus the statement ‘a waste of time’ is merely perspective. Uneducated, perhaps, as I have earned more than one degree, however neither properly addressed penmanship. So here I wonder at the futility of what I’m attempting to do, not that it’s pointless, mind you, but in terms of realistic expectations. There are variables against me: I’m a loner and reclusive, (and this is a social site, for instance), I’ve not the education to properly place writing resources and exercises into context, and in all reality I have no idea how the different phases of writing TRULY work. Oh, I get it, you write to get the stuff down and then you edit. Each of these has many steps involved, some steps repeatable, until you’re satisfied with the result. Some hammer on using an outline, some tell you to avoid using an outline in favor of creativity, (and I’m of the flavor that enjoys outlines), but when I DO use an outline my works tend to come across as mechanical non-fiction. That’s not what I’m shooting for – I’m telling and not showing. The fiery vixen of licentious linguistic levity playfully gives me a shove, but instead of following her lead I respond like an old grump. So how do they really work? People are employed who do not but exercise these steps, and so I’m forced to admit that these steps are far more puzzling then they first appear. It is nothing short of infuriating, to be honest, because I can see the story in my head. I can map out what happens, and when I begin to pace (it helps me think) I can even smell the oak paneling and the Pledge polish they used on the dining room table. Yet when I write the oak paneling and smell of Pledge don’t even seem to find their way into the mix. It seems obvious it’s merely because of inexperience, but these sorts of blocks seem like something that a quick lesson could probably overcome. A few take-this-into-considerations and I’d begin grasping the reins of expression. (As I'm reclusive, expression has never been my strong suit). Or then again, maybe it's not so simple… Paul Let’s say we have Paul sitting around watching TV, munching on a bag of potato chips, which he does every day after school. He’s kind of miffed because his mother didn’t buy him his favorite bag of chips, rather a cheaper, and not nearly as tasty, alternative. When the show ends he casually tosses the bag on the floor and ascends the stairs, noticing a mark beneath his hairline in the mirror on the landing. He almost missed it because it was brown so it blended in well with his hair, but it wasn’t really subtle, either. He rubbed vigorously at the mark and despaired that someone would notice and, if they were foolish, remark upon it. Paul didn’t like hitting people, but sometimes they forced him to. He always had to set things to rights, but doing so always complicated matters. People misunderstood him and misunderstandings were always difficult to set straight. The above example So, in the above, I feel like I’m “telling” not “showing,” however I’m also aware that I’m using inference to paint a picture. I never really said that Paul was mean, and it may turn out that he’s really not a bad kid, but it’s definitely implied. I never said he was a fat, spoiled bully, but that would probably be assumed, as well. I never explained the color of his hair, many might interpret brown, and others might just consider it dark enough for a brown mark to blend in well. To me the indirect stroke of the brush paints a picture, but I’ve been told (more than once) that I’ve got it all wrong. So what’s wrong with it? I daresay telling me I’m incorrect is fine, but I’d like a follow up on the declaration (if you were kind perhaps even EXAMPLES supporting your argument) from which I may glean a morsel of comprehension and grow. Being a relative new-guy in town (in terms of writing hours) with the technical expertise of an enraged orangutan atop of being reclusive – it’s difficult to separate the useful information from the erroneous. I guess one ripens into that framework, but it’s difficult to do so with a narrow margin. |
| After some depression time and continued dissatisfaction at life in general, I've decided to continue my writing. I've been writing with a fountain pen, mostly. It's time that I transcribe some of that and continue my Fantasy story. More, I need to figure out some exercises to increase efficiency. I've noticed it's sloppy and I must go back and correct far too many mistakes. Some I'm not even aware are mistakes, so thank you to those who take the time to critically tear my stuff to shreds.  I've never taken a class on writing so I'm not sure which exercises are effective and which are not.Here are two chapters to update from where the story left off. Chapter 3 was essentially a copy-and-paste of a thrown out version. I do not like it, but I wasn't in the mood at the time to rewrite the piece. (It takes some crazy convincing to become motivated when depressed). Chapter 4 was written recently.
A Thank you.  |
| Consortium of Confusion It has been a long time. Well, what I consider a long time, but you may not. It’s been a rough road and my writing has been hit; hard. Oh, I’ve been writing, but mostly non-fiction reports concerning a devastating financial crisis about to consume the whole of earth. Or about the internal security of the United States and our efforts to maintain that security, even in the event of a meltdown. Sometimes I touch on my specialty of Asymmetric Warfare and the disciplines of reason that are useful to best conceptualize that momentum. The stress of it is near overwhelming because the phrase, “no news is good news,” seems to be correct, except I’m where the news is at. That place, well, it stinks. It smells like the south bound of a north bound skunk – a terrified skunk – and those don’t smell very good. I’ve tried to hide in my writing, to let the story take me away from my efforts and strains, only to have it guide my story to some incomprehensible scenario that doesn’t even fit the theme. Oh, those misguided journeys were worth saving as they allude to a deeper seed of both my protagonist and antagonist, but, set in the framework of my story, they’re rubbish. I could try to rationalize and save it, but why? I know it’s rubbish. The end. I also know what it’s worth – the hints of my antagonists’ deeper evil and reasons for my protagonists’ resolve. What more could I ask? “But Lo! Ye gentle folk. Ye be ‘ammered by yer worries and strife.” Ah, indeed I am, invisible perspective – perhaps a personality disorder yet undiagnosed – and the strife mounts. In the end, my frustration mounts because the story always turns into the very essence that haunts me; and so I drop the story and turn around to begin working. I write, but it’s not the form to which I’m passionate, and yet I do it passionately. “What is this?!” I ask. It feels like a saboteur lurking in the Shadow, a knowing smirk tugging his empty pale lips, whom twists events ever-so-slightly to overcome my passion with grief. Now I write with grief, not passion, and yet, to grieve is a form of passion, is it not? Well, I guess that all depends on the essence of that grief. Regardless, it seems I should be looking over my shoulder into the shadows. To denounce the saboteur is to denounce my Reason, which mandates responsibility to my fellow man is of great importance, and to write otherwise would indulge selfish interests. And yet here I am –I still write and rewrite my story and consider its elements. I see the psychology, the history, the weaving of a thousand webs bound together in interest and defense that converge overtime and, on the surface, may seem the most insignificant events of the story. It uses history and conspiracy, fantasy and sci-fi, and the aspects of power. The base is solid, the foundation is secure, and yet I continually find myself distracted by my worries. Writing always used to displace those worries. Aye, for I walk the stage of confusion and determination. The crowd is silent, yet on the edge of their seats. What are they eager for? Is this a stage on which I perform or is this an execution? |
| Perspective Indeed, it is interesting what one may learn researching for a story. This is especially the case when that story has many intertwining elements with those ambiguous secret societies and mysteries of history. For instance, when Grand Master Jacques de Molay of the Knights Templar was killed because the Knights were gaining too much power, he caste doom upon Pope Clement and King Philip for their treachery. They both died less than a year later. Oh, history is ripe with stories for the plucking. The Knights Templar were also suspect of having possession of the Ark of the Covenant, and there are records suggesting they stole away many "important but damaging" items to a small island south of Nova Scotia, Canada. This place is what many call the "money pit." No doubt, if that were true, then after the first of many failed attempts to find the treasures of Oak Island societies related to protecting said evidence probably secreted the important material away. Still, it makes one wonder. Men have gone through great strides, have bled, and have died for, what seems to be, insignificant ends throughout history. Why? The pyramids are another wonder, and the underground cities like Derinkuyu, Turkey. They are filled with wonder and beauty for those willing to leave it at the surface. Further research points to other purposes, some not so beautiful, and many sects of old societies reveled in things that we today would find most disturbing. The purpose of all the research is my Fantasy Story. With that in mind, most of the relevant mysteries I've studied all begin at a single place: The Temple of Solomon. Because of this I've decided that it will make for a good end-game. There is neither beginning or end, but there are beginnings and endings. As my story is planned to be segmented and arched over a few novels (too much to crunch into a small frame) it is best to keep the story, the elements, and the goals simple. The complexity derives from the overall arch of the series, but the stories themselves, though with much action and intrigue, are motivated by simple desires. Not So Simple This results in a certain focus regarding characterization, that the basics must be observed, even if those observations are deceitful. Love vs. Hatred / Loyalty vs. Selfishness / Guilt vs. Duty. Can you be summarized by your greatest strength and greatest weakness? No, I'd imagine not. This is why actions speak louder than words, but here is the rub: what if the reader thinks the action or statement is out of character (It would definitely seem that way)? That gave me a headache and many trashed files until the conclusion was obvious: justification. As long as the character is only contradicting biased narrative or slander (or love and praise), they open the reader up to the possibility that their personality is more complex than the status quo of cardboard cutouts. The trick, I think, is easing them into it. It is akin to how slowly lowering oneself into a hot bath is relaxing. If one were to jump in steaming water, well, the sensation wouldn't be nearly as pleasant. The character must surprise others with a few choices, to ease the possibility that things may not be what they seem, so when the truth comes out it isn't disastrous. In real life, of course, we're not afforded the luxury of knowing. Things are hectic and tend to bash us in the face. People act out of character all the time. Actually, most people couldn't summarize their own character. It comes down to that saying, "Know thyself." Does anyone know what they're truly capable of until those capabilities are tested? Do we truly know our best friends, our lovers, our enemies, or our family? When I watched the news and observed the story of a young girl who has just killed an entire family, all the interviewees said, "I had no idea she was capable of that." Indeed. Now one must ask: did the girl know? What if she didn't until it was over? We human beings are very complex creatures, yet we always strive to squash that complexity into two-dimensions. I suppose, with a story, it's the same thing. |
| Whew! An unexpected excursion with a good friend to explore the beaches of the East Coast is something that does not occur often. It was a refreshing taste of nature and friendship. Back to the story and back to the pen. |
| What is this feeling, this flight of fancy that has all but given me wings to fly? It's been awhile Writing.com! I've officially been back for a few months now, but personal agendas had to be met first. It's rough being deployed numerous times. Uncle Sam decided that he was going to recall me out-of-nowhere so: "Once more into the breach, dear friends." Afghanistan is a wreak and, needless to say, I feel much sorrow for the people of that region. There are good individuals everywhere but they become twisted by those who desire power. It is indeed sad. Now that I'm back from all the chaos I'm pursuing a degree, as I've missed the time to do so before (Thank you GI BILL!). While I'm expanding my horizons I've decided to double-dip and jump back into Writing.com with gusto! I haven't finished my book, actually the rough-draft was destroyed in a way that might make a good story. Do you wish for me to divulge? I may, one day, but I'll let it pass for now. My world keeps shifting day-to-day with PTSD to wrestle with and other forms of annoyance. Things are definitely far removed from where I envisioned myself as a child, all that innocence crushed beneath a mountain of responsibility and torment. Not to say that it's slowing me down, actually it might all be a blessing in disguise. My experience and observations of the world have changed drastically and my mind seems capable of absorbing much larger quantities of data. Supposedly that's a possible side-effect, they say. One extreme or another - either the brain becomes hyper-active, or the brain takes a giant proverbial poop. Well, in my case, shell-shock has provided some unforeseen benefits. There is a price, of course, but I was paying that price anyway: "Once a man sees war he never stops seeing it." So away from the war-story hysteria that was inevitably the result of my choices in life - I've come to find a real passion for writing. I suppose just the history of this account can verify that it's existed for a time, but now things have changed. It's hard to validate exactly how the change has come across. I suppose discerning the how is irrelevant. I think being an author of anything, of creating something, beautiful or not - is a thing to be proud of. It's far better than destruction. No longer do I feel limited to just pursuing my novel - that's still on the list, I will finish it before I die if I have any say about it - but now all other forms of writing, as well. Writing, it appears, is staring into the human soul by observing our own proclivities and peccadilloes. It occurred to me because, in fact, we really do not know ANYONE; even ourselves. Writing is an attempt to understand the depths of ourselves by portraying tendencies called 'characters' on paper that we invent and culminate to maturity. It is to create a world or to express ones view, to share, to take, to love, to hate, and by these ends it is the most appropriate means to express what many call one's personal 'soul.' By doing so we come to understand the greater connection between us foiled human beings and press the boundaries of that comprehension by the medium that we, if you're on this site, share. So let's just say that I'm back, Writing.com. I'm here for a good long while and I hope you're ready because, whether my works are impressive or horrid, I intend to push boundaries. For if we fail in that endeavor we are but picking up the scraps of men and women who achieved it. Check out my portfolio and thank you for reading. My epic fantasy is on my bucket list - so if you could offer any opinion I'd be grateful. Succeed, Fail, it doesn't matter. Just try. Achilles Asheelz |
| It’s a large project to take on with my car stuck in a ditch sinking in mud and the only hope is a friend with a rusted-out 80’s pickup that squeaks at every opportunity and starts on ‘occasion’. That’s what it seems like here forgoing the repertoire of writing examples, barriers, and concepts; this Transitional Fantasy bears a true weight. Commenting on the last Fantasy news-letter I received from writing.com Government is one example of the paradigm we take for granted. There are many other things generally twisted but held within a range concerning Fantasy novels: weaponry, phonetics, social engagements, sociological standards, psychological conditions (reactions, cause, and affections), etc. Some of these draw the standards from the writer’s environment others are altered to sharpen the image of their new world. Delicious and thought provoking when broken down to the fundamental form, but this work aims to create the world of elves, dwarves, dragons, night-hordes, Hluok, fairies, and swamp monsters from the world of Coffee Shops, Universities, fast-paced economics, and corporate despotism. Why? To answer the question: I love fantasy. I’ve seen attempts made with fairies and dragons hiding in lairs beneath the earth, which seem like every-day people but are not, or nuclear radiation, war, corruption, greed, and the weakness of our species hitting an all-time low. Many of these ring a note as we turn on CNN, Fox News, or BBC and observe; but there is something missing. The challenge is creating a believable transition between the two worlds and tying the ends of the project together. Molding this world into another world with that beautiful boutique of belief rife with conflict(s), character development and a lot of those “what if” questions that spur the creativity of the reader is what I strive for, and is a goal that grips my creativity without any clear sign of letting go. Transitions are difficult because what we take for granted in Fantasy now, all of a sudden, must be deliberate. Why did it become that way? How did it occur? Is it a natural course of things or am I skewing ‘natural’ to fit my personal interpretation of the current social norm? What is natural? Is speech different, normality, clothing, education, technology, and why? I was overwhelmed for years on the mere mountain of concerns with a piece like this until the day, just after being fired upon kneeling behind a door of a Hummer during a convoy on route Tampa, Iraq, a friend commented on my coolness during combat. My First Sergeant responded, “Its mind over matter.” That sparked a lot of inventiveness and sealed what I would use. The day was very emotional with both men being seriously injured just after the comment – another reason it grabbed my attention. One more factor that thrust my desire to complete the framework spawned from a very wise friend that said, “History is a conduit displaying the limits of our contradiction. Humanity can only be so good or so evil until it retracts to trend toward the other.” History ties all aspects of humanity together, and every angle must be involved to change the world on this scale. A few fun research projects, a little twisting, and its ready to go. Now onto the hard part: writing the story on the level it deserves. |
| My largest project is a transitional fantasy that I plan to span from modern society to an open-ended realm of magic, in essence using war as a conduit of change. My problem is, I'm not a million word writer and haven't had the greatest education - can not afford to take that adventure right now. As I plot and plan the different variables involved in the story it becomes more and more complex, so how do writers make the impossibly complex seem so simple? I'm new to all this, have had my frustrations, but wish to write anyway - I just love doing it. Are there certain techniques to organize thoughts, perhaps a layout of sorts to make everything easier to reference? Right now I have a jumble of notes that require a half hour to sort through to find what I'm looking for, and by that time I've lost the flow and the candles burned low. the end. |
| I have a hard time writing in a showing manner - for some reason it's more natural to tell it. Obviously an issue, I've come to realize that it only requires an extra step in the process. Telling is quick to produce a structure of the story, a fast rough draft of intent, and the showing can be formed later; but this inspires bad habits, an annoying overuse of adverbs, head jumping as the big no-no's produce a nest. If I do begin writing in the showing-case, after a short time the visual representations leave, and I begin telling - words slipping in not intended. Or, like smacking into a brick wall at high-speed, my showing creativity stops, ends, game-over; and writers block settles down with a vengeance even though the flow of the story isn't blocked - the describing IS. Frustration is a good tool for a writer, it may be culminated in determination; but at the moment I need to re-examine the tool box before proceeding with it, else there may be a time found when frustration is no longer malleable. >.> |
| Starting off is difficult when you're broke. I don't wish to pay for schools and go into the debt department, and yet I do not know what resources are available in my endeavor. I keep writing because that’s what I love to do, but I have no formal education to back it up. I’m ignorant concerning techniques and subjects that other writers take for granted which makes it difficult to achieve lasting results. I suppose I could use the GI bill to attain some education, but what about work? As the lights of a thousand stars unfold a shroud as darkness covers me. |
| Squeezing time into an already hectic schedule to pursue this passion convinces me that this will be a task long enduring. As I’m rushed to complete certain priorities I’ve noticed that mistakes exponentiate given that criteria and the small things that count are brushed over. So how am I to handle this quagmire of writing ineffectiveness that plagues my story? I’m setting up systems of outlining and cross-referencing, but that too is taking away from the whole piece. I need something to sustain the creativity under pressure of strict limitations. Pahf! Another day, another bill… |
| So I'm writing small connected stories in an after the fact voice, all relating to what I hope will one day be an Epic Fantasy. The reasons are more along the lines of characterization, but the challenge appears within the evil character. Being self-absorbed and annoyed with all things it's hard to narrow down the actual gut-feeling of this worm, and so the leech that he is remains a generally normal leech; a light brown mud-colored prickly turd-nugget that sticks to the skin after an otherwise enjoyable swim. At the moment he is attached to my consciousness consistently sucking away my attention to detail persuading me to write with copious amounts of passive voice because I can not seem to focus on anything else. I will sigh with relief when he finally gets his fill and fades away. 8() |
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