Weekend Writing Warriors: Southampton Quarrels

Hi there and welcome back to my blog, warriors! Today I'm looking forward to making the rounds and sharing another part of my recently published fantasy novel Anoethau. Critique and comments are always welcome, and I hope you enjoy today's snippet. :-)

After fleeing his parole, Artie, the protagonist, finds himself at a place called Southampton, England. Most commonly known for the Titanic commencing its first and final voyage from the Port of Southampton, it is also a place of pubs and heavy drinking. This is what happens, when Artie finds himself in the midst of it...

The next thing he knew; there was a large object flying right by his face. 

It landed behind him on the road and from the sound of shattering glass, he recognized it as a beer bottle. People yelled at each other in front of another bar only a few feet ahead and there were three or four men in a drunken fight out in the street. The loudest of them wasn’t involved in the actual fighting, but shouted from the sidelines to the ones pummeling on one another with their fists.

“Get on with it you sissy,” the agitator yelled, laughing.“If I lose the money, I’ll start beating on you too,” he shouted, slouching at the corner to the open bar door.

Artie didn’t want to get involved in their quarrelling, but he knew, if he passed the group, they would make him get involved. From his experience with fights in prison, he figured that his best bet was the offensive mode, but he was a little too drunk to spin the plot all too clearly. 

“Hey Dickhead,” he slurred at the agitator from a distance, “how much money did they bet on your stupid face?” 

Dumb, I am dumb, he thought, but it was too late.

Synopsis

A play on the famous Arthurian legend, Anoethau tells the story of Artie Kendrick, an ex-convict, who has spent the better half of his life in prison, and now prefers the solitude of his house to being in the company of people. Backyard gardening is a newfound and most welcome hobby of his, until, after days of heavy rainfall, he discovers a strange artifact in the puddles of his vegetable patch - a sword. It's not just any sword, since it was given to him by a mysterious woman named Viviana, who introduces herself as a deity of another world. The gift comes at a tremendous price: with it, Viviana wants him to kill her arch enemy and save her world from destruction.

Anoethau on Amazon 

Anoethau eBook Release - Partying like it's 1995

Zzzzzing, I'm so happy, flying, or at least floating a foot above the ground. I just published my first fantasy novel on Amazon. I'm glad I did it, I'm glad it's finally "out there in the universe". I have been coming back to this story since NaNoWriMo 2012, when I wrote the first draft. 

Synopsis

A play on the famous Arthurian legend, Anoethau tells the story of Artie Kendrick, an ex-convict, who has spent the better half of his life in prison, and now prefers the solitude of his house to being in the company of people. Backyard gardening is a newfound and most welcome hobby of his, until, after days of heavy rainfall, he discovers a strange artifact in the puddles of his vegetable patch - a sword. It's not just any sword, since it was given to him by a mysterious woman named Viviana, who introduces herself as a deity of another world. The gift comes at a tremendous price: with it, Viviana wants him to kill her arch enemy and save her world from destruction.

Since some of you asked: The book title Anoethau is mentioned in the longest surviving Welsh prose tale "Culhwch ac Olwen", and refers to impossible task or "difficult things of wonder". It is allegedly the first time, Arthur and his huntsmen are mentioned in a manuscript that old (about 11th century).


Once more unto the breach, my friends. I'm diving head on into the second book in the series. The story evolves around an important character in Anoethau, Eloise Walsh. I feel as though she didn't get enough "screen time" in the first book - and clearly, she's the reason Artie gets to have such a well-trained companion in Cabby, the French Bulldog.

I wrote the first draft of Aned in 2013 and it is a prequel to Anoethau. This will be fun! Wish me luck with book number 2.

Anoethau on Amazon.com

Anoethau on Amazon.de

First Page Review - Anoethau

I can't remember how often I rewrote that passage to introduce Arthur, the main character of my soon-to-be-published fantasy novel Anoethau. I can see him clearly in front of my mind's eye - a Gene Hackman type person, but a bit younger than the actor is now, severely disconnected from the world by his past and through his own volition, unsociable, selfish. But as Mr. Cohen once sung, those cracks are how the light gets in. So in addition to all that, he's quite resourceful and pensive to the point of insecurity with a concealed sense of comradery. As the story unfolds, things will happen to challenge those qualities. Dear First Page Review reader, after reading the first ~ 900 words - would you continue reading this story? Is this character interesting? 

Thanks so much for taking the time to read and review. :-)

Please click to enlarge the picture.

I'm off!

I guess the time has come to admit it, so I'll finally admit to it: I'm off. I'm blank. I'm vacant. Being creative, making time for other things besides maintenance of life (hah, gotta love the specifics): it's all gone. Off the map. Me, the person who wrote each and every day and blogged half-regularly: was it just a fluke? Or a placeholder? Am I being overly dramatic? Well, I guess it's a little bit of all of the above.

I'd like to cling to the hopes of having a tiny little residue of energy left to go on - creatively speaking. Some day. I haven't given up the idea of a writerly career. But to get there, I have to write. Every day. Stay in shape. Honestly, it wouldn't be hard to make time if I really wanted to do it now, but the truth is, these days I'm burning on a low flame. And I prefer sleep over writing.

With a second kid, I somehow feel ridiculous talking about the importance of art and leisure. It has little meaning to me. I'm not saying that I found it elsewhere, because there's no infinite wisdom buried beneath baby poop and vomit, but these are the pressing issues in my life right now. Life upkeep. Hey, by the way, here's the test to find out if you are a real writer: If you have the choice between writing a story and cleaning up a spilled drink that drips down to the floor, what would you do first? If you choose writing over cleaning up, congrats, you are a writer! If you are like me, and you can't do anything else, knowing that something is dripping, you are not. Or maybe you have OCD.

There are a couple of other options, for those of us who want to combine the everyday life with writing. I thought about it. Writing about the everyday life. Unfortunately I can't mash up these things. I'm not a baby blogger. I just don't have it in me. And I rarely find other baby blogs to be insightful or original, least of all entertaining - except for the Baby Bible, which I've come to enjoy quite a lot.

Me, I don't want to talk regularly about the ups and downs of being a nurse, janitor, baby feeder. Unless those babies have magical powers hidden beneath their diapers that is, then I could write about it and call it a fantasy story. And in regards to writing about being a parent, there's not much to go on either. My quintessential parental insight basically comes down to one rule, namely "try not to kill kids". Well, there could be a funny angle to this, but it's more like a pun: "Today: tried not to kill kids, and barely succeeded." But that's about it.


Why didn't I jump in while I had more time? It's easy. I'm afraid. I'm afraid no one will care about the story I labored over, and worse, that it's an utter failure, and no one will care,  which is basically worse than having a million bad reviews. Having a sucky story and no reviews. Annoyed people still are an audience. If no one is annoyed, is it like the proverbial tree in the forest? Does my writing even exist? Seems like at the moment, I can't answer these questions.

Right, I do care a little too much for someone who doesn't put any effort in having their story published, don't I! Hah, maybe there is a grain of hope. A little one.

Story news about Anoethau

This year, a lot of stuff is about to happen: I'm adding the final touches to my 2012 NaNoWriMo story for it to be published in the last quarter of this year. I'm excited about this story. Interestingly enough, re-reading it, I didn't find it completely horrible. Yes, certain parts were longwinded descriptions, and reflected thoughts. The main character is alone for a certain time of the story and with no dialogue options and no interactions, strange things happen in storytelling. Plus the NaNo requirement of having a story with at least 50000 words demanded a certain creative "redundancy" on my part. I'm excited though, I feel like I can move on from here.



Reading Guy Gavriel Kay's Fionavar Tapestry trilogy reassured me, that re-imaginings of known narratives can be an asset. For his story, he revived some of the Camelot cast, just like I did, but unlike him, I did it in a contemporary setting. Read The Fionavar Tapestry if you get a chance. Guy Gavriel Kay was Tolkien's editor for the Silmarillion, so that should tell you everything you need to know.

I hope you're not turned off of me saying hang in there once again. We're almost there. I still need a website, but hubby promised to help me with that. And amongst other things, hubby is a website wizard, and a tech-fex if anything else. OK, enough pampering, back to work.

Weekend Writing Warriors: The House Guest

Hey everyone, and welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors and my NaNo story Aned! Last time - a little long while ago, Eloise entered a grove searching for the white shepherd dog that seems to be following her everywhere she goes. I'll move forward this week, to where Eloise finds the mysterious dog hiding in the backyard, in her own dog's hut...




Eloise approached Aethelia's dog house, where the grumbling noise grew into a clarion growl.
"So what is the deal with you anyways, dog?"
She slowly knelt down by the hut, facing away from the entrance, with her heart hammering against her chest.
"It's not very polite to growl at the host, but I guess you must have your reasons to distrust humans."
She reached for Aethelia's red rubber ball and tossed it from one hand into the other. Moments went by. The growling turned into a soft gurgling, before it stopped. Startled, she felt something touching her arm; in the corner of her eye, the dog's nose quickly withdrew from her elbow, back into the darkness of the hut.

Aned - character drawing

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Weekend Writing Warriors: Proud Little Lion

Hey there, warriors and welcome to another edition of 8sunday. I'll gladly share the next snippet from Aned, my most recent work of fantasy fiction. Let me set up the moment for you: Eloise Walsh more than brashly imposes her dog Cabby on Artie, a traveler she just met. He is less than thrilled but agrees to dogsit for a day, for Eloise clearly has no one else, and the arrangement strikes him as an opportunity to make some coin. A day goes by and she still hasn't returned to pick up her dog. Another day until he receives a letter.

I knew my time had come, as it was inextricably linked with your arrival.
Let me tell you that I used to dread imagining the moment you’d be standing at my doorstep, coming to claim your right.
I think I'm ready now.
Know that he is yours, he always has been, even when you didn’t know he existed. And although I was just watching him for you in your absence, I did everything in my power to guide him and give rise to his true nature, and I loved him, and boundlessly so, like a mother loves her child.
I trust you will too some day, and I’m fairly certain that once he strides by your side, my boy, the proud little lion, you won’t be able to close your mind against his.
You will see the world anew through his eyes, the imprints of the Gods, the strength to protect and to foresee; all his talents now will be yours to uphold. And once you understand this truth in all its bearings, it may very well be that even you, Arthur, will bow down before him and call him king.

Weekend Writing Warriors: Oblivious

Hi there writers and readers, and welcome to this week's Weekend Writing Warriors. Like so many of you I have been busy during November, working away on a new story. Well, the idea for it wasn't exactly "new", since I first thought about a back story for Anoethau during last year's NaNoWriMo. Anyways, this excerpt is taken from the beginning of Aned. I always appreciate your comments, and feedback, so don't hold back, kay? :)

Eloise only had to take one look at her husband to know that everything wasn’t alright.

“Tell me, what did he say?”

George uttered one barely audible grunt when he sat down and took off his shoes. A French bulldog made leaps around his feet, as usual, happy to see him - and oblivious to George's grim face.

“Aethelia, stop it,” Eloise demanded, and the dog backed away instantly. The pair of black and white eyes followed Eloise as she approached her husband.

“Won’t you tell me now what the doctor said?”

George folded his hands between his knees. 
“Nothing we didn't already know.”

Synopsis

Eloise Walsh is a woman of modest needs - she lives with her husband George and French bull dog Aethelia in a quaint little house in the heart of Southampton, England. When fate strikes and her husband suddenly falls ill, Eloise barely accepts the seriousness of his situation. Desperate to do something, she persuades her husband to go on medicinal walks through the elaborate city park. She notices a white shepherd dog trailing them from a distance.
The dog appears to be cut off from his pack, determined to following them to the point of stalking. Struggling to shake him off, the dog makes himself comfortable in their backyard, and soon Eloise finds herself at a turning point; challenged to take care of her sick husband as well as taking in a stray dog with a strange set of abilities that cause a wild amount of trouble in their household and between the married couple. It doesn't take long before she realizes that there is a reason why the white shepherd Aned is in her hands, an how not only her life but the lives of others will be in danger if she doesn't take on the responsibility of being his guardian.

My NaNaWriMo Experiment

Initially I had some doubts about participating in this year's NaNoWriMo. Would I be able to do it again? Last year's story took a lot of preparation, and I basically had every small piece of it figured out months before I started writing it. I drew charts filled with all kinds of character data, gave each one of them a background, an origin story with childhood memories, a set of life experiences that explained how they became that person. And even though none of that was part of the actual storyline, it was for me to know, and to see them in my head as real persons, not stereotypes, who would act in a way that was consistent with who they were. I went for it and added trivia, such as body height, weight and hair color, even dental info and I thought about which actors would play them in a movie (knowing what they sound like helps me writing dialogue).

This year, I'm writing a prequel about the things that led up to last year's story. Some of last year's work still comes into play. But since I didn't have the time to prep for the other stuff, there is more freedom to explore what happens between crucial plot moments, and some of the new characters are developing as I write them. Some might say that that's not the way to do it. You need a plan, then write. I agree that having a plot outline isn't nearly enough. Although I like the process of winging it, some of what I write already turns out to be editor's food. I have no trouble filling those pages, but some of it lacks direction or amounts to drivel that could have been avoided. Certainly those unplanned moments can always lead to new ideas to explore for another story. And the fact that not everything is purposefully lined up is an awesome writing experience for me - if only to know that I'll never ever do it like this again. We'll see. It might very well be that on November 30th I'll end up with a lot of words, and none of them adding up to a viable story.

Weekend Writing Warriors: To Catch a Thief

Hey warriors, and welcome! First let me set up this next scene from Anoethau for you. It's from Chapter one, so we're moving back to the beginning of the story. MC Artie is an ex-con and a man of simple needs, and I guess to call the way he lives hermit-like would be a serious understatement. Gardening and growing fruit and vegetables in his backyard are his hobby, but much to his dislike, the neighbor's girl Melanie has had her eyes on the mouth-watering fruit of his raspberry bushes for quite some time. One day, as Artie comes out of the tool shed, he sees her bursting away from them.. 



"Hello Melanie," Artie said calmly, bending over towards the vines where the girl hid. The leaves rustled, and the bush seemed to stiffen as soon as he said the name out aloud. The girl couldn’t be much older than seven or eight, but he wasn’t exactly sure.

"Hope you enjoyed the raspberries."
 
After a while she came crawling out from behind the bushes and Artie noticed her face and hands being smeared with red stuff.
 
"You know, if you ask me, you can have some of my berries, and you won’t even have to hide while eating them."
 
"Ummmm," she said, and her face turned a much more intense shade of red. "Just don’t let me catch you stealing again…" he said, putting emphasis on the unspoken -or else… part.

Weekend Writing Warriors: Easy Confidence

Hey and welcome, warriors, this week I'm finally back with a snippet from Anoethau. Wheew! For plot reasons, I have to skip ahead a little. Last time, the mysterious woman Artie met in Southampton asked him to take her dog with him on his journey to Wales. For understandable reasons Artie declined, but out of compassion he now agrees upon watching her dog Cabby for a little while, in order for Eloise to run some errands...



“Let me give you some money for the day, so Cabby doesn’t eat you out of house and home.” She digged deep inside her handbag for coin, but Artie waved his hand at her, “you can pay me later if you want to, after I have done my job.” 
“I live over there in the house by the corner,” Eloise said, pointing past the busy street café. 
Artie immediately knew it when he saw it; the quaint, lilac house with the white balustrades and overgrown iron gate strangely met his expectations of this woman. 
“Well then, at least, let me give you this,” she said, holding a door key out to him.  
“You can take a bath or a shower, and wash your clothes instead of having to go back to your seedy motel. The fridge is well-stocked, and there are cans of Cabby's favorite food in the pantry; he likes to eat from his bowl, you know.” 
The dog regarded each of them with easy confidence, a sentiment that Artie himself did not share.

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Quick Story Update

While revising I have started to outline the plot for a new story, which will be a prequel to Anoethau. The story focuses on Eloise, one of the supporting characters. As I was writing Anoethau, an idea for Eloise's back story took shape, and with each day it got more extensive and detailed. Those of you who read my Weekend Writing Warriors snippets have briefly met Eloise - she's the woman who tries to convince Artie to take her dog along on his journey. In the new story, working title Aned and Aethelia, I'll focus on young Eloise and her adventure. Just as in Anoethau, there will be a lot of references to Arthurian legend and Welsh mythology. I'm very excited about this story! And of course, as the story progresses, there will be more of my sketches of characters and locations.

Aned

Weekend Writing Warriors: Do you want him?

 
Hi and welcome my brave warriors, to another round of wewriwa! This week, I'll continue with the fantasy adventure I've written for last year's NaNoWriMo, called Anoethau. 

Artie has finally arrived at Southampton, and is stretching his legs by the fountain at the town square, when an elderly woman and her French Bulldog come on the scene. The dog eyes Artie with open curiosity. All of a sudden, the woman makes a rather strange suggestion...

“Do you want him?” 

It took Artie a long second before he realized what she meant by that,

“You mean...your dog?!!” 

He waited for the old woman to indicate that she was kidding, but she didn't. When she gave him no sign other than a wholehearted nod, Artie frenetically waved his hand at her in refusal.

 

“No...no..." he stammered, "I’m just passing through to Wales.." 

“Well, that’s exactly what my Cabby likes,” she said tenderly, “a bit of an adventure.”

 

She persisted on holding the leash out to him, which made him think she wouldn't take no for an answer; and his pulse leapt.

“I don’t get around much these days - so, what do you say?”

 

@8sunday_writers Idiots and Earthquakes for #8sunday: Do you want him? idiotsearthquakes.blogspot.de/2013/04/weeken…
— Dana Renelt (@dasdanalein) April 6, 2013

Weekend Writing Warriors: At the Town Square

Hello and huzzah to another fun-filled Weekend Writing Warrior extravaganza! I'm jumping ahead in my story. Artie has crossed an ocean and finds himself in a place called Southampton, Hampshire...


Artie slid his arms through the leather straps and dropped the backpack on the stair in front of the fountain. The street café across the town square was jam-packed with sun worshippers and children, spooning ice cream from bowls with the most luscious formations. He closed his eyes to the noise, the clinking of glasses and the sound of their banter.

As he re-opened them, an elderly woman with black sun glasses and a heavy fur coat made her way towards the fountain. A brawny dog padded besides her on a leash. She dragged herself up the steps towards the brim, and for a brief moment, Artie noticed the dog frowning at him in passing.

The woman groaned with exertion as she lifted the dog up on the edge of the fountain. Once he was at the top, he craned his white neck towards the surface and began drinking the water.

Thank you for stopping by and have a wonderful Sunday! :)

Weekend Writing Warriors: Forever Gone

Hey there, Warriors, I'm glad you could make it!! This week, I'll continue with Anoethau right where we left off the last time. Artie is in hiding on board a transatlantic freighter. He tries to stay under the radar, but is soon discovered by the ship's cook Francis. Francis offers him work in the kitchen as payment for the passage...



Pedro gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. When the laughter died down, they both picked up peeling carrots, and potatoes after that. The kitchen soon fell silent except for Francis’ occasional whistles and the sound of water boiling vigorously inside pots.

When Artie went outside the galley, the sky had put on a darkening coat. He leaned against the railing and looked at the sea. It was calm and even but for the icy wind nipping at his ears. The ship had long departed New York Harbor, and he regretted not having seen it take off. His last chance to say good bye; he had missed it.

Weekend Writing Warriors: In Disguise

 

Hey Warriors, and welcome to another fun-filled Sunday with wewriwa! Soooo, what do we have here today, another scene from Anoethau! Main character Artie is the guy I have been following around during NaNoWriMo. Ever since he found a magical weapon in his vegetable patch, things haven't been going so well for him. At this point in the story, having violated his parole, he needs to keep a low profile for a little while..luckily he finds a job in a cookhouse, run by a guy named Francis...the people working there think his name is Richie..



“Richie, where did you work before Francis hired you?” Pedro asked, as they each grabbed a carrot from the large pile in front of them, “a kitchen in New York?” 
Francis stopped stirring and looked up from the pot; the both of them seemed awfully curious about the new crew member. 
Although Artie had worked at a breakfast diner in Oakley, he didn't consider himself a full-fledged cook. People at Timm's had rarely ordered anything besides the typical breakfast meals, a small number of dishes including eggs and bacon.
“A small diner in Idaho,” he replied, which, for once, wasn't a lie. 
“So, did you learn how to peel carrots there?” Francis asked, the irony spread thick in his voice. Artie looked down, the guy next to him was bursting with laughter. 
The carrot in his hand was peeled down to a tiny shred. 

Weekend Writing Warriors: Stalwart

Yay, it's WeWriWa, week #2. I'm glad you could join us. What I have here, is another excerpt from Anoethau, fast forwarding from where we left off last week, to introduce one of the other major players, and yes, before you ask, this all goes down in a public toilet. So please, have a ball today, writers, readers, and don't forget to visit us on our website every now and again, for there might be interesting stuff happening besides sign-up..like this week's prize..I mean, have you seen the size of it??! :)

Cabby moved forward towards the grime-stained urinal. Another small step, and another. He snarled. The little bell at his collar rang in that same high-pitched frequency Artie had heard once before. He drew the sword. The shadows crept closer and closer, but Cabby held his ground. He anchored his paws into the floor. As a warrior would do, Artie realized, and mirrored the dog's stance on his own two feet as best he could.

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Weekend Writing Warriors: Little White Hilt

Welcome writers, for today is the first Sunday of Weekend Writing Warriors! Squee!! I'm so thrilled and excited to making the rounds, being a happy blog-hopping bee and all! So, for the first WeWriWa, what could be more appropriate than a story about a man who found an ancient and magical weapon in his vegetable patch? Since he's out on parole, he tries to get rid of it quickly, but of course, with magical weapons, it's not as easy as throwing away gum wrapper: this is Artie Kendrick, and the Little White Hilt, sword of myth & legends.

 

He turned it within his palm, and the moon cast his light on the upper part of the blade. Artie's gaze fell upon an engraving on the steel.

He felt the roughness between his fingers, cold and sharp – when the letters came alive in front of his mind’s eye; a message, reflecting from the surface of the river, a voice, murmured from the far side of the reed.

“Take....me....up...”

A cold shiver ran down his spine. What kind of trick was this? 

A stir went through the river bank. Someone - or something - came tearing through the reeds.

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Six Sentence Sunday: Old Habits

http://sixsunday.com/

Hear ye, hear ye, it's another beautiful Sunday and another opportunity to bring forth the six- may they delight and entertain...:) Last week I posted the intro snippet from Anoethau, my latest fantasy adventure. The title itself derives from Welsh mythology, actually from one of the oldest Arthurian tales there is, and it means difficult or impossible task. This week I'll continue where I left off the last time. Please feel free to comment and criticize my work as you see fit. And have a good one. ☕


It was back in prison when Artie had found out about his grandmother’s passing and the inheritance she had left.  
His lawyer had given him the mysterious letter with a note, saying that the next parole hearing might be worth putting some effort into, unlike the last few times when he’d "blown" it. 
To Artie’s understanding he hadn’t blown anything except being honest; apparently that was something the commission didn't want to hear.
He hung his jacket in the closet, and put his street shoes next to the other pair, which he slipped into with a single sideways move. As he passed through the living room he realized that the heavy smell of pipe smoke clung to the curtains and sofa cushions like a persistent cloud of smog. 

Disgusting habit, he thought and yanked open one of the large windows. 

 

Six Sentence Sunday: Coming Home

http://sixsunday.com/

 

Hello there Sunday Sixers, and Sixer-fans, and welcome to another round of our wonderful Sunday tradition. Admittedly, I have been absent quite a lot, half the time editing, the other half of the time slacking off, but...OK, no BUT, there is no excuse for editing during the holidays, I know. :) I'm looking forward to seeing what you have all been up to lately, and I'll be reading your excerpts momentarily. Oh, and I'd be a very happy bee if you left me a little comment with your thoughts and insight before you go. Have a good one. :)  
Today, there will be no excerpt from The Days Adrift, instead, I'll give you the first six sentences of Anoethau, fruit of my NaNoWriMo participation this year. Let's get to it then, shall we.



Artie turned the key with one hand, the plastic bag with groceries was dangling from the wrist of his other arm. He gave the thick wooden door a little push. Home.  
He loved the smell of the old house, and every time the door closed behind him he felt like he entered a different world, another century, the world his grandparents had lived in. 
The house had been in his family for generations, but much to his surprise his grandmother had left it to him, the ex-convict, the murderer, not his sister, the one who had been the epitome of virtue all her life.
After living in the house for over a year, it still made him grin thinking about it, visualizing his sister's face the moment she found out that she and her annoying idiot husband were left with nothing.