The things you stumble upon while doing research! The old familiar children's rhyme that begins: "Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye," was actually a coded message from Blackbeard the pirate to recruit new crewmembers. I always thought that rhyme made absolutely no sense. Turns out, all you needed was the key. (Grin).
Hmmm. What a story that might make...
(Slamming down the lid on yet one more plot bunny.)
A taste of the story I'm working on now---
First draft, subject to change, please do not quote or repost elsewhere.
“My daughter,” Morion said, a catch in his voice. “She looked into the eyes of the stone dragon.”
Dara got up and moved to where she could look into that small face and stare into those blank, opaque eyes that seemed to beseech the heavens for mercy. Only with the destruction of the dragon would those eyes see again.
“She won’t remember you”, Dara told him softly. “Her life will start over for her the moment she wakes.”
“At least it will be a life,” Morion said.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Nothing to Say....
I haven't posted in awhile. Basically, nothing to say. I'm waiting to see how the election and the stock market do, and writing.
Here's a snippet of what I'm currently working on.
Please don't quote or post elsewhere, first draft.
Deyna opened the door, and a bell rang somewhere in the back of the shop. Except for a couple of comfortable-looking chairs and a table, the front was empty. She let the door swing shut and stood without moving.
Motion from the back of the room caught her gaze. A curtain swung in the draft created by opening the front door.
“You can come out, Morion Grey Cloak,” Deyna said. “I know you’re there.”
Some indeterminate thumps sounded. Deyna felt a twitch of amazement. Morion entered the room on crutches, dragging a useless left leg behind him.
She shook off the amazement and held up the knife. “Yours?”
“Mine,” he acknowledged.
“Why?”
His deep-set eyes surveyed her. “Right to the point. I like that. I had to make sure you came here and that you’d need my help.”
“Why in the name of the Great God didn’t you just ask?”
“Because you’d never have agreed,” he said, and gave her a faint smile.
That smile made her uneasy. His next words confirmed it.
“I need you to kill a stone dragon.”
Here's a snippet of what I'm currently working on.
Please don't quote or post elsewhere, first draft.
Deyna opened the door, and a bell rang somewhere in the back of the shop. Except for a couple of comfortable-looking chairs and a table, the front was empty. She let the door swing shut and stood without moving.
Motion from the back of the room caught her gaze. A curtain swung in the draft created by opening the front door.
“You can come out, Morion Grey Cloak,” Deyna said. “I know you’re there.”
Some indeterminate thumps sounded. Deyna felt a twitch of amazement. Morion entered the room on crutches, dragging a useless left leg behind him.
She shook off the amazement and held up the knife. “Yours?”
“Mine,” he acknowledged.
“Why?”
His deep-set eyes surveyed her. “Right to the point. I like that. I had to make sure you came here and that you’d need my help.”
“Why in the name of the Great God didn’t you just ask?”
“Because you’d never have agreed,” he said, and gave her a faint smile.
That smile made her uneasy. His next words confirmed it.
“I need you to kill a stone dragon.”
Sunday, September 21, 2008
How the Current Economic Crisis is Like Jenga...
Remember that game? You build a tower with wooden pieces, and then try to remove pieces without the whole thing tumbling to the ground.
To understand the current Wall Street fiasco, imagine that derivative investments were those wooden pieces--remove the wrong piece and the whole tower comes crashing down.
Well, remove subprime mortgages from the picture--something which many of the so-called brilliant lights in Wall Street used to build their towering investment edifices--and you can see that collapse was inevitable.
If no one is buying subprimes, that particular wooden piece is removed from the game. Ergo, boom! Who couldn't have seen that coming? Apparently most of Wall Street's analysts.
Simplified explanation? You bet. However, if Wall Street investors had stuck to simpler, time-tested and tried stuff, we wouldn't have to be bailing their asses out with taxpayer money.
To understand the current Wall Street fiasco, imagine that derivative investments were those wooden pieces--remove the wrong piece and the whole tower comes crashing down.
Well, remove subprime mortgages from the picture--something which many of the so-called brilliant lights in Wall Street used to build their towering investment edifices--and you can see that collapse was inevitable.
If no one is buying subprimes, that particular wooden piece is removed from the game. Ergo, boom! Who couldn't have seen that coming? Apparently most of Wall Street's analysts.
Simplified explanation? You bet. However, if Wall Street investors had stuck to simpler, time-tested and tried stuff, we wouldn't have to be bailing their asses out with taxpayer money.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
How time flies... Friday Snippet, September 12, 2008
I haven't posted in awhile, I see. I'm plotting. Trying to come up with scenes for the story I want to write as a part of the How to Think Sideways course.
There's so much in Holly's course, it would be difficult to convey it all, but the highlight for me so far has been the Sentence. Once I figured out that doing the Sentence correctly builds in all the conflict I need in a scene, it was like coming out of a dark room into daylight. Oh, yeah! That works! If I take nothing else away from this course, THAT will be worth the whole enchilada.
I started writing a story that's modeled after my childhood role-model Andre Norton. I think I caught the flavor of her technique--
Brief snippet--- please don't repost or quote without permission--the usual.
Jetan found Berek’s cruiser buried nose-first in the snow and ice. He stopped, hand on his holstered pistol, and looked for signs of life.
The cruiser lay, silent and broken and – empty? Had Berek survived what must have been a terrific crash?
Jetan would not be surprised. Berek had managed to survive worse and emerge from hiding just as the Academy considered him safely dead.
He triggered his communicator. “I found the cruiser. I’m going in.”
The communicator blipped. “Careful, Jetan. Berek’s been known to set booby traps.” Zed’s voice came over as tiny and distorted on the communicator’s speaker.
Jetan wasted a second trying to modulate the frequency. Something on this fierce, savage world interfered with the unit.
He stowed the communicator and drew his pistol. Moving slowly and carefully, his glance darting among the wreckage, Jetan approached the damaged cruiser.
There's so much in Holly's course, it would be difficult to convey it all, but the highlight for me so far has been the Sentence. Once I figured out that doing the Sentence correctly builds in all the conflict I need in a scene, it was like coming out of a dark room into daylight. Oh, yeah! That works! If I take nothing else away from this course, THAT will be worth the whole enchilada.
I started writing a story that's modeled after my childhood role-model Andre Norton. I think I caught the flavor of her technique--
Brief snippet--- please don't repost or quote without permission--the usual.
Jetan found Berek’s cruiser buried nose-first in the snow and ice. He stopped, hand on his holstered pistol, and looked for signs of life.
The cruiser lay, silent and broken and – empty? Had Berek survived what must have been a terrific crash?
Jetan would not be surprised. Berek had managed to survive worse and emerge from hiding just as the Academy considered him safely dead.
He triggered his communicator. “I found the cruiser. I’m going in.”
The communicator blipped. “Careful, Jetan. Berek’s been known to set booby traps.” Zed’s voice came over as tiny and distorted on the communicator’s speaker.
Jetan wasted a second trying to modulate the frequency. Something on this fierce, savage world interfered with the unit.
He stowed the communicator and drew his pistol. Moving slowly and carefully, his glance darting among the wreckage, Jetan approached the damaged cruiser.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Struggling, and Friday Snippet, August 22, 2008
Hmmm. Hit a road block on How to Think Sideways. I'm having trouble with my protagonist--figuring out what she wants, how she works--and I'm having this sinking feeling this may be my problem area. Or maybe it's a good thing that I've pinpointed the problem--thing is, I'm not sure how to fix it yet.
Brief Friday snippet. First draft only--please don't quote or repost elsewhere.
In the days when the world was new and djinn still called the deserts their homes, there arose a warrior so pure, so true that even the Emperor, whose life the warrior would have given his own to protect, grew jealous.
"Gaji will become Emperor in my place," the Emperor said in his heart. "I will destroy him."
So the Emperor confiscated Gaji's lands and worldly goods, and sent him to a far land to subdue the infidels with only what he could carry.
Gaji, pure and true and lacking any deceit in his heart, thanked the Emperor for his attention, promised to always honor the Empire in word and deed, and made the far land his new home.
Soon, so well had Gaji performed his duty to the Empire, that stories of his bravery and exploits reached the Emperor's ear.
Brief Friday snippet. First draft only--please don't quote or repost elsewhere.
In the days when the world was new and djinn still called the deserts their homes, there arose a warrior so pure, so true that even the Emperor, whose life the warrior would have given his own to protect, grew jealous.
"Gaji will become Emperor in my place," the Emperor said in his heart. "I will destroy him."
So the Emperor confiscated Gaji's lands and worldly goods, and sent him to a far land to subdue the infidels with only what he could carry.
Gaji, pure and true and lacking any deceit in his heart, thanked the Emperor for his attention, promised to always honor the Empire in word and deed, and made the far land his new home.
Soon, so well had Gaji performed his duty to the Empire, that stories of his bravery and exploits reached the Emperor's ear.
Friday, August 15, 2008
To Cluster, Or Not to Cluster...Friday Snippet, August 15, 2008
One of the things we're doing in Holly's How to Think Sideways class is clustering. I've never been a big clustering fan---but since the whole class hinges on it, I started thinking about it.
In a way, clustering is like free writing. You don't censor what you put down, you just put it down. I've done sets of free writing before and have no difficulty, so really, what the heck is my problem with clustering? Is it the graphical nature of it? Does it seem more rather than less restrictive to me? Maybe. In any case, I've set aside my discontent with it, and did the exercise on the six questions. More later on how it worked to generate story ideas.
A tiny snippet of what I'm working on lately: First draft, please do not quote or post elsewhere
The first thing Mia remembered her father telling her was that her mother abandoned her.
This meant nothing to Mia. Never knowing a mother, she did not miss having one. When the village children pitied and shunned her, she became aware of a lack of maternal presence in her life, and wondered about her mother—who she was, why she’d abandoned her daughter.
At her seventh birthday, with no cake and no presents, Mia asked her father about her mother.
Her father flew into a rage, stomping around the room and throwing things.
“Don’t ask me about her! Don’t ask me about her!” he shouted, and shoved his face close to hers, hair standing on end where he’d clutched it. “A fickle creature, heart as insubstantial as a feather!” he raged. “But I was more clever than she! I never told her my name.”
“What do you mean, Father?” Mia asked.
But her father shut his mouth tight and left the house in a hurry. When he returned, he wouldn’t respond to any of her questions. Mia eventually stopped asking.
In a way, clustering is like free writing. You don't censor what you put down, you just put it down. I've done sets of free writing before and have no difficulty, so really, what the heck is my problem with clustering? Is it the graphical nature of it? Does it seem more rather than less restrictive to me? Maybe. In any case, I've set aside my discontent with it, and did the exercise on the six questions. More later on how it worked to generate story ideas.
A tiny snippet of what I'm working on lately: First draft, please do not quote or post elsewhere
The first thing Mia remembered her father telling her was that her mother abandoned her.
This meant nothing to Mia. Never knowing a mother, she did not miss having one. When the village children pitied and shunned her, she became aware of a lack of maternal presence in her life, and wondered about her mother—who she was, why she’d abandoned her daughter.
At her seventh birthday, with no cake and no presents, Mia asked her father about her mother.
Her father flew into a rage, stomping around the room and throwing things.
“Don’t ask me about her! Don’t ask me about her!” he shouted, and shoved his face close to hers, hair standing on end where he’d clutched it. “A fickle creature, heart as insubstantial as a feather!” he raged. “But I was more clever than she! I never told her my name.”
“What do you mean, Father?” Mia asked.
But her father shut his mouth tight and left the house in a hurry. When he returned, he wouldn’t respond to any of her questions. Mia eventually stopped asking.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Deep Into It -- Friday, August 8, 2008
Look at all those eights up there! Would have been more, but I kept to my date format. "A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds." Emerson *sigh*
I'm deep into Holly Lisle's How to Think Sideways class. As such, I've been writing material for the class. I have to say I'm liking it so far. The course is just as much about philosophy as it is about writing.
And, since it's Friday, here's a really brief snippet for you:
Anita Chavez knew the gunslinger rode to town long before he arrived. The peculiar smell of death assailed her nostrils, as it always did when she encountered those who lived by violence. And yet, a tangy odor she couldn’t identify mingled with the scent of death. Most reeked of carrion and old blood, but the gunslinger presented a different mix.
I'm deep into Holly Lisle's How to Think Sideways class. As such, I've been writing material for the class. I have to say I'm liking it so far. The course is just as much about philosophy as it is about writing.
And, since it's Friday, here's a really brief snippet for you:
Anita Chavez knew the gunslinger rode to town long before he arrived. The peculiar smell of death assailed her nostrils, as it always did when she encountered those who lived by violence. And yet, a tangy odor she couldn’t identify mingled with the scent of death. Most reeked of carrion and old blood, but the gunslinger presented a different mix.
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