A New Idea

There was a two or three year period where I had writer's block, not all that long ago. And I mean that as in absolutely, completely, one hundred percent blocked. No ideas. No ability to write anything--no fiction, no creative non-fiction, no poetry, nothing.

Apparently, this current period is to make up for that.

I was hanging around in the chat (which, for the purposes of here, will be the Undead Chat, or just Chat) which I frequent, and some members were posting a few lines here and there of some of their bits of writing, and a new idea just hit me. A wonderful writer was giving us some of the beginning of something they'd written and haven't yet finished, and one line of hers triggered a new idea for me. They would very, very generally be about something similar, but the actual plot would be completely different. The amount of similarity is more like "a story about a guy who has xxxxx". I know it's an idea that's been done before (I think I may even have seen it around the NaNoWriMo boards last year, in a couple of incarnations), but there's really not anything new under the sun, now, is there? It's all how you work it.

The nice thing about this new idea, which is tentatively "Novel #5", is that it came with a title. A one word title, and I like it. I like the connotations (reminds me of domestication, and my pets, and loads of other stuff). It's kind of snappy. And it fits the general bits of the story, but doesn't give anything away that won't be known right off. It also lets me play with the idea in my head some more... I'm still trying to nail down if the character is in his current situation (which is the title, actually) of his own volition, or someone else's. Also, if his condition is more scifi, or fantasy.

I still have #3 to finish (trying to wrap up chapter 4 right now, in between typing this and keeping an eye on the Chat). Er... and #2, which was put on hold a bit for the freight train that was/is novel #3. And there's still novel #4, which needs to be fleshed out a good deal before I can begin to write it. And I really should edit #1...

For once, lots and lots of ideas, not enough hours in the day to get it all done and still function. I'm thinking I will concentrate on the 3rd novel, and take occasional moments to finish up the last 20% or so of #2, for now. #4 might be my NaNoWriMo novel for this year... and if it's not, #5 will be.

With Apologies To My Spell Check

I have stumbled upon yet another indication that I am writing fantasy. MS Word popped up with the message that there are too many spelling errors in my document, and it will no longer automatically check them. It is true very few of my characters have "normal names". Heck, *I* don't have a name the spell check will recognize. To give you an example of why there are little red squigglies all over my document, here's a list of some of the common words that are currently underlined:

Characters:

• MAIN: Varin, Laz, Melia, Theron, Ruele, Aedan, Cyne.
• SECONDARY: Kallista (Lista), Thais, Mataan, Okara, Kyto, Faran, Eirene, Finna, Uriel, Tillia... and some others.

Races:

• Prismata. Also, the plain old humans, called the Pallidus by the Prismata
  
• Subsets of Prismata: Laaien, Littorine, Viridian, Argenteum, Crymysin, Pleione.
  

Locations:

• Cereto and Arforah, at the moment. More starting shortly.

I am currently wrapping up the last bit of chapter four. All of the main characters have been introduced, and we've gotten a good feel for four in particular: Varin (our hero), Laz (his best friend. Laz is a nickname, by the way, and he hates the actual name), Cyne (the sister of Varin's love interest/girlfriend; also widow of Thais), and Aedan (an outcast due to his breeding, the only person who sees him as an actual person is Cyne, and she has good reason for it).

The plan is to finish the 4th chapter tonight and immediately start the 5th, where the actual physical quest begins. This story's actually been *fun* to write. Kind of exciting, too.

SRB's Big Idea, and Upcoming Reviews

Sarah Rees Brennan, author of The Demon's Lexicon, has promised to post a short story for each week her book hits a particular (modest) sales goal. Well, the first week has passed, and she has hit that goal. So, true to her word, she has posted a short story, set in the Demon's Lexicon world, and involving one of the minor characters. If you haven't yet read the novel, do not fear--the story contains no spoilers for the novel, and can be enjoyed completely on its own.

For what it's worth, I liked it. It's about one of the antagonists of her novel, and it shows a little of why he is how he is. While not the most likeable chararacter in TDL (for me at least, though he does have a few good lines and moments), this story made me feel for Gerald. There are some parallels to Harry Potter and Cinderella, and especially to The Sword and the Stone/the tale of Arthur and Merlin. ...Although I am curious about the "American shorts" comment in the first paragraph. It's probably not flattering to those of us in the States.

Also, I do plan on doing more book reviews soon. Several, in fact. Some of them will be from well-known series (I am rereading all 7 of the Harry Potter novels, at the moment, for example), some from stand-alone books. When I review something from a completed series, I will review each book individually, then the series as a whole. So, to let you all know what will be coming, here are the next (SEVERAL) books I will be discussing:

• Chocolat, by Joanne Harris (literary fiction)
  
• STIFF: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers, by Mary Roach (creative non-fiction)
  
• Naked, by David Sedaris (creative non-fiction)
  
• The Dark Tower Series (all 7 of them), by Stephen King (fiction, fantasy, western-fantasy)
  
• The Harry Potter Series (again, all 7), by J.K. Rowling (fiction, fantasy, urban fantasy, young adult)
  

Also, I am always open to suggestions. If you want something reviewed, let me know. If I don't already have it, I will attempt to acquire it in a timely manner, read it, and share my review.

A New Story Begins

I have begun the actual writing on that third novel. I have spent so much more time planning/researching/plotting and whatnot for this one than for any of the others (there was a decent amount of medical-related research for the second one, but this is different). It's the first time I've ever had to do true "worldbuilding". It can be fun, but it can also be...well, a pain in the arse.

So, here's the first section of the first chapter. I have more than that written, but it's a nice, complete scene. It's just over 5 pages, or about what an agent/editor would be likely to read before deciding whether or not to toss the whole thing into the bin, or keep reading. If anyone has any impressions or comments, I'd love to hear them (positive or negative, honestly). It is the first and roughest draft, and I haven't reworked it at all yet.

Varin caught himself slipping off the boulder just in time to keep from hitting the ground. He had a brief moment of confusion as he regained his position, then looked around to make sure no one had seen him. There was no one on this path into town—anyone coming in to Arforah had most likely taken the main road. That was part of the reason he and Lista liked to meet along this path. It was quieter, cooler, and there was little chance they’d be interrupted on their walk back into town, short as it was from this point. It was one of the best ways to unwind after a long day, and he was certainly feeling the strain after this one. Muscles he had forgotten he had were sore.

He settled himself back on the rock, kicking his feet in time to a melody in his head. The shadows looked wrong, and it took a moment to realize why—if he’d been sitting there long enough to doze off, then she must be running late. But even if that were the case, there should still be more light. He looked up through the trees, figuring perhaps another spring storm was on the way, but the sky was perfectly clear. He’d give her another two minutes, and then head towards Cereto. In the meantime, he’d rest his eyes.

He heard Lista coming down the path at exactly the two minute mark. He slid off easily, waiting for her bright hair to make an appearance through the trees. Crouching behind the rock, he smiled to himself. As soon as she got close enough, he’d jump out and grab her. He could hear her yelp and easy laugh in his head, and the grin spread wider.

There was a scream as he pounced, but it wasn’t the one he expected. He’d barely registered the different sound and a blur of grey before a fist slammed into his bicep. “Ouch!” He rubbed his arm and took a step back. “Geez, I’m sorry, Eirene. I thought you’d be Kallista. Weren’t you two together?”

Eirene’s brow furrowed as she smoothed her silvery hair back from her face. “You mean she didn’t pass by here?”

“No.”

“That’s odd. Maybe she stopped to pick some of the sugarberries she saw on her way out this morning. She mentioned them when we set out.”

Varin shrugged. “I bet you’re right. I’m going to head east though, and look for her. We should have been back to town already. She probably lost track of time.”

“Probably.”

He could tell from the half-hearted echo that Eirene didn’t believe it entirely, either. Something gnawed at him in the center of his chest, but he pushed it aside. Lista knew these woods even better than he did. The odds of her getting lost along the path were nonexistent. “You should head back to your parents’ place. I know they’re all anxious to have you visit.”

Eirene bit her lip. “Soon. I’ll come with you, though. Unless you mind?”

He smiled, but it felt tight. “No, of course not.” They walked along, feet padding over the fresh blanket of leaves left strewn about after yesterday’s storm, each keeping an eye out for a glimpse of Lista’s figure through the trees. “Why did you and Lista separate?”

“I told her to go on ahead without me. I wasn’t feeling well, and she was worried about being late to meet you. She was worried about me, but I told her it was just the baby and she eventually picked up the pace while I sat for a bit.”

Varin just nodded. He’d forgotten Eirene was already expecting. He couldn’t see it. It had been a month since her wedding, but the ceremony had been in Cereto; it had been a fairly small affair, and he hadn’t gone. Lista had been involved, of course. It was hard to keep the two girls separated for long, though things might be changing now that the other girl lived in the Palladus city with her husband. Cereto was nearly four times the size of Arforah, and as nice as it was, Varin couldn’t quite see himself settling there. He hadn’t discussed it with Lista yet, but he was fairly certain she would be okay with staying where they had both grown up, with their people. The farther they walked, the more that unsettled feeling increased. “Where exactly did you two separate?”

“Just this side of the bridge.” Her hand went to her middle and rubbed briefly. “I couldn’t imagine she’d be too—”

Her voice was lost in a crash of thunder. Eirene jumped and grabbed onto Varin’s arm, and he let her hang on instead of shaking her off. His ears rang, and he shook his head to clear it. “What was—” His voice faltered as a scream drifted through the air. It wasn’t the startled, amused shriek he’d hoped to hear ten minutes ago. It was the same voice, that much he knew for certain, but the owner was either terrified, or in great amounts of pain. “Lista.”

He took off running towards the sound, which lingered for much longer than seemed possible. He could hear Eirene calling after him as he sprinted through the woods, dodging trees and logs hidden under moss, but he didn’t slow. The scream seemed to come from all around him, sustained by an infinite stream of breath behind it, and Varin had a hard time pinpointing the exact origin of the sound. It cut off suddenly, leaving behind a sharp silence, where not even the rustling of the leaves could be heard. Varin stood still, trying to survey everywhere at once, his heart thudding painfully beneath his ribs. Three-quarters of the way through his slow spin, he saw caught a glimpse of cinnamon colored hair among the damp leaves.

Dropping to the ground, he rolled Kallista onto her back. Her eyes were half-lidded, and for a sickening moment, he was sure she was dead. Pressing his ear to her chest, he could hear a faint rhythm, slower than the blood pounding through his body. He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and called her name, his voice sharp, and getting sharper with each repetition. He kept waiting for her to stir, but she continued to lie face turned to the sky, taking breaths small enough or slow enough that he couldn’t see them.

“Is she…?” came weakly from his elbow and he almost pitched forward, startled by the noise.

“No. She’s alive. But we’ve got to get her back to Arforah.”

“What happened to her? Is she hurt? I don’t see any blood—”

“Your guess is as good as mine. It doesn’t matter at the moment. We’ll get her back home and the Pleiones can take care of her. Grab her things.”

“Can you carry her on your own?”

Varin didn’t answer. He doubted Eirene would be able to help if he’d needed her to, but he knew it wasn’t going to be a problem. Lista was a year older than he was, but she was quite petite, and he’d carried her on his back while they’d taken walks through the forest before. Carrying her in his arms shouldn’t be that much harder.

He realized how wrong he’d been before they even made it into the village. She was still light enough to carry, but now she was all dead weight (he refused to think of that term literally, and shoved it roughly out of his mind), and his muscles had been fatigued even before he’d scooped her up against him. By the time he stepped into Arforah, he wasn’t sure he could move her much further. “Quick. Get somebody. Find a Pleione. Any one you can. I’m going to try to get her home.” His throat burned raw, but it only registered at the back of his consciousness. He’d take care of himself after he got her help. He didn’t hear Eirene reply, but he could sense her move away from behind him.

Her house was on this side of the village, but he hadn’t gotten more than a half track into Arforah before someone had spotted him. “Varin? Is that Kallista?” Too sapped to speak again, he nodded. Ruele approached him at a run. “Here, let me help. What happened to her?”

He swallowed, ignoring the strain, and forced his voice to work. “Don’t know. I sent your sister to find a Pleione.”

“Eirene’s okay?”

Varin nodded, letting Ruele take Lista from his arms. She moaned low and long, and the fire in his throat and in his muscles dipped to make room for the pain in his chest again. It was the first sound she’d made since he’d found her.

As big as he was, Ruele moved a lot faster than Varin had. Once they passed the threshold of the stone cottage, Varin lost track of everything. He saw everything in little stops and starts—seeing Lista laid upon a bed, her parents moving back and forth, and three separate Pleiones flying in and past him, like he meant nothing. Eventually, Ruele came out holding a glass of water, making him drink it before he answered any of the questions Varin threw at him. It didn’t matter much; Ruele had few answers to give.

“What do you mean, they don’t know what’s wrong with her? That’s half of what they do! What good are healers if they can’t do anything for her?”

Ruele ran his hands through his hair. It was lighter than his sister’s. This was one of the few times Varin had ever seen him without it secured at the base of his neck, wrapped with a small bit of leather. “They’re trying. They just… haven’t seen anything like this before. The only thing that’s even come close was what happened to Thais.”

Varin jumped up from his chair. The room spun around and he gripped the edge of the small table in front of him, knocking over the empty glass. Ruele set the glass upright, not looking directly at him. “But this can’t be the same thing. He was in a bar fight. Lista said there was blood everywhere when they brought him in. She doesn’t have a scratch on her.”

“I didn’t say it was the same thing. I just said it’s something new to them, and so was that. The Pleiones would like to speak to you about what happened.”

“I don’t know what happened.”

“I know. I told them that. But they still want to speak to you. They think maybe there’s some detail they don’t know that might help. Will you go over what happened with them?”

Eyes squeezed shut, Varin nodded. Anything that might help. He sat down again as Ruele left the room and took a breath as he opened his eyes and dropped his gaze to his feet. “Rue?”

“Yes?”

“Has anyone told Cyne what you told me? About it maybe being like Thais?”

Ruele paused. “No.” Without another word, he ducked back inside the bedroom.

Man, I suck at titles

At present, I have 3 novels in various states of completion. In short:

Novel #1 is a completed first draft, at about 87,350 words (287 double-spaced pages). It's literary fiction, leaning toward romance. It's written in third person, present tense, and the main character's a woman in her early thirties. I have extensive notes to incorporate into the editing, but I haven't started that yet.

Novel #2 is about 60-75% written (first draft). It's currently sitting at 87,337 words (wow, so close to the completed first novel), and is 144 single-spaced pages. Oddly, I write in single-spaced, and double-space when the draft is done. It comes from a paper-writing technique that worked for me in college. It's also literary fiction, though it could also be considered mainstream fiction, I suppose. It's less "literary" than the first novel is. It's written in first person, past tense. The narrator/MC is a male, aged 26.

Novel #3 is still in the planning stages. I'm actually quite close to beginning the actual writing. This one's fantasy, most likely Young Adult (I may drop the YA aspect, but I'm not 100% set on that yet). I need to plan a wee bit more to figure out if it's more high fantasy or sword-and-sorcery. It took me 4 full days of research and brainstorming to name my main species and the assorted races within (in addition to figuring what to call the non-magical humans and what the other magical creatures/people were and what they'd call themselves). It took an additional 3 days to give my main characters (all 7 of them, plus an 8th who is the catalyst for the action/plot) names. Pronounceable names, without apostrophes. I'm currently just nailing down some of the main plot points before I begin the actual writing. It will most likely be written in third person, past tense.

There is a novel #4 lurking in the back of my head, but it's only about 20% formed. Once I solidify it, I'll post more about it. I originally thought it would be a short story, but I'm now positive it'll be at least one novel, if not a small series of them (urban fantasy).

Now, you'll notice I refer to them all as "novel #1" and so on. That's because I haven't titled them. At all. They haven't even had working titles. This is a new problem for me. I've never had a problem titling my work before this. Then again, everything before this has been short stories, novellas, plays, poems, and essays/articles. But with the novels, I fail. I have no idea why. In the past, the title of what I'm writing comes to me quite early (in fact, sometimes it's the title that hits me first, before I even have a somewhat coherent story idea). Sometimes they change. Usually, they don't.

I'm not quite sure what's up with this. I have no idea what to do about it. I'm very curious what will happen when I write my next short story--will it start out, as most of the others have, with a title that just smacks me over the head? Or will this problem carry over? I certainly can't leave these stories unnamed. It'd be awfully hard to pitch a story to an agent or editor with it nameless. I suppose that having a beta reader or two might help, just so I have someone who can tell me their impressions and with whom I can bounce ideas around (someone with an understanding of all the characters and little plot elements and such). But finding a good beta isn't as easy as many might think. Not only do you have to find someone who's WILLING to read the story (which, depending on their speed and free time, can be quite a time investment), but you also have to find someone who will help on the level you're looking for. A simple "yeah, I liked it" doesn't help at all.

Now that I've rambled about my title issues, I'm off to do a bit more planning on that third novel, followed by some actual writing on the second--I haven't done any actual writing in a couple of weeks. How naughty.

Novel #2, Chapter 1, Scene 5.5

The next day with my parents was a little better. My mom gave me a big hug at the door and planted a kiss on my cheek. I scrubbed at it, feeling the lip balm coat my skin slightly. She just shook her head at me, smiling. “Come on in and say hello to your father. He’s parked in front of the television.”

I hung my jacket on the coat rack near the door and slipped out of my shoes. It was a habit my mom had instilled in me by the time I was six. I still looked around friends’ places the first time I was over, checking to see if wearing my shoes around the house was acceptable, or taboo. I made my way to the couch, coming to sit next to my dad. The smile he turned on me forced me to reciprocate. It was the first legitimate smile to hit me since before the news came. He was having a good day. “Hey, Dad. Who’s playing?”

My dad just shrugged, the same movement I used. “Hell if I know. I’m just killing time until the Lakers play. Keep me company while your mother finishes in the kitchen. You know how she is. Can’t step more than a foot in there without being chased out most days.”

I smiled again, unforced. I remembered. Another lesson from early in life—never bother Mom when she was preparing food. “Right.”

We watched together for a while, through the first game and part of the next. At halftime, my dad turned to me, a slightly troubled look on his face. “So, your mother tells me you got some bad news from the doctor the other day.”

I could feel my face tighten. So she’d told him. I’d meant to ask her about that. “Yeah.”

“Cancer, huh?”

“Yeah.” I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat and was unsuccessful on the first try. I finally got it.

My dad clapped a hand onto my shoulder. His grip was still firm, but I knew that it used to be stronger. “You’ll lick this thing. I know you will. We’re a family of fighters.” The look on his face flickered from set to sad for just a moment. Still, it was better than that look of pity. “We Renaults never give up. I never will, and I know you won’t either. Even the women we marry are fighters. Look at your mother. Never a tougher broad on earth. Speaking of, how’s your young lady? Sarah?”

I hadn’t told my mom about that. “We’re not together anymore.”

“Hm.” My dad had met Sarah a few times. I’d been worried about introducing her (or any new person, really) to my parents. Especially my dad. I never knew what he’d think, or what he’d remember, or what kind of temperament he’d be in. He’d been more irritable for the last four or so years, something the doctors weren’t surprised by in the least. It may have been a common symptom to them, but I’d had a hard time reconciling it with the experience with my dad. He’d always been such a laid back guy before, full of jokes. I could barely remember him yelling at all throughout all the time I was growing up. “Shame, I suppose. She seemed nice enough. But you’ll find someone better. Prettier. And tougher. That’s the kind of woman you should have.” He gave my shoulder an affectionate squeeze before excusing himself and heading down the hall to the bathroom.

I thought that over for a second, then got up and stood outside the kitchen, watching my mom frost a cake. I didn’t quite dare enter and risk getting in her way. “Dad’s having a good day, it seems like.”

She nodded, not looking up from her task. A lock of blonde-gray hair fell across her forehead and she brushed it away with the back of her hand and her wrist. I got most of my looks from my mother—the cheekbones and the eyes, especially. “Yes. He was a little off this morning, but he’s been fine for the last several hours. I take it where I can get it.” She finished the frosting with one final swirl, then held the knife out to me. I took it as I always had as a kid, licking the last of the vanilla frosting off before lobbing it gently into the sink, where it landed with a splash. “Why didn’t you tell me about you and Sarah?”

I shrugged, aware it was identical to the one my dad had given me earlier. “Didn’t seem as important as that other thing.” I hated using the actual word. It was easier to deny it was really happening if I didn’t have to say it.

“I guess I can see that. Are you sure there’s no chance you will be getting back together?”

“Positive. She’s moving to California for school. And I’ve been realizing lately that we didn’t have a bad relationship, but we didn’t have a good one, either. I think it was just a comfortable routine we’d settled into. Maybe out of laziness, at least on my part.”

My mother nodded again, covering the cake with the cake stand’s etched glass dome lid. This particular set only came out for the winter holidays. She’d had it for over thirty years, and I didn’t think it had ever missed a Christmas. “I understand what you mean. If I had to tell the truth, I’d say that I never thought you were right for each other.”

Was this something everyone said once a couple broke up? Maybe that’s why she’d asked if there was a shot at reconciliation—so she wouldn’t say something she couldn’t take back later, if we did get back together. Fat chance of that happening. Even if she asked, I wouldn’t say yes. We really weren’t right for each other, and I had bigger things on my mind, anyway. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t get me wrong, Cole. She was a nice enough girl, and always very polite to us. I don’t have anything negative to say about her as a person. But watching the two of you together just gave the impression that things weren’t right. There was something missing when you were together, some connection, or a spark of some sort that should have been obvious, but wasn’t. I don’t know if there’s a word for it, but it’s one of those things you can see, if it’s there.”

I supposed she was right. There had always been something missing. Maybe it was like the difference between loving someone and being in love with them. That wasn’t it, exactly, but it felt close. At least, sort of close. It was always so hard to put my exact feelings into words. I could get close sometimes, but never exactly there. Maybe it would have been better if we’d talked about how we felt more often, but I wasn’t used to it. I’d never been good at it. I especially didn’t like talking about my weaknesses. I was a guy—we weren’t supposed to have any. “I guess.”

I left the house feeling full and content, but it wasn’t long after I arrived at home that everything seemed to hit me again. My mom had mentioned that if I found I couldn’t afford to keep my own place, they’d always have room for me there. At the time, sitting near the fireplace and sipping hot chocolate with a miniature candy cane, I’d just nodded, thanked her, and glossed over the idea. Lying alone in bed, it was harder not to think of these things and what they might mean for my life in general.

I hadn’t lived with my parents since shortly after my eighteenth birthday. There was the year on campus in the dorms, and then the few years after that in Boulder, with other students as roommates, but since the year after I’d graduated, I’d been on my own. Sometimes, it was great—especially the privacy and never having to worry about upsetting another person’s schedule or using someone else’s food or other products. I was realizing now, though, just how easy it was to feel alone, and more than just physically.

I felt the hot tears well up in my eyes and tried unsuccessfully to blink them back. One ran down the side of my face, coming to rest in a crevice in my ear, then another. Rolling over onto my stomach, I pressed my face into my pillow, crying quietly. At least there was no one here to see me like this. I was slightly glad for that. But it also meant there was no one here I could confide all of these worries to and receive comfort back from if I wanted to, even if all I got was a murmured word or a gentle hand on my back.

I slept after a while, but it was an uneasy sleep, full of those fragmented, overwhelming dreams again.

An Introduction

This is intended as a place where I can post brief snippets of my writing (current projects, mostly), update to anyone who may be interested about what I'm doing that's writing-related (entering contests, editing websites and/or copy for someone else, doing freelance work, beginning/finishing/etc. new projects), as well as a place for me to ramble a bit about what ideas have been floating around my head and (perhaps) get a little bit of feedback on those ideas.

Yes, I also have a LiveJournal for this purpose, but that's mostly for larger sections of what I'm writing (and I'm awful at updating it, anyway), and pretty much all of that's friends-only. More personal stuff makes it over there as well (I try to keep the 2 LJ accounts separate, but there's been some bleed-through), so I am dedicating this space solely to writing and words, books, and ideas and inspiration.

Because I am also an avid reader, I will also be including reviews/musings on whatever it is that I am reading (whether it be another blog, some poetry, a novel, literary criticism, academic articles, or anything else).

So, that's my intention for this space. Please feel free to leave comments, as long as they're at least somewhat relevant (and if they're not, I might still allow them. Case-by-case basis, as it were).