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 

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

www.wewriwa.com

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.

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: Dog In Tow

Hey there, warriors, and welcome to this week's wewriwa. Let's just jump right back in where we left off last Sunday. Artie has just met a woman, who asks him to take her dog Cabby with him on his journey to Wales. He has good reasons to say no....

He didn't want or need any of that. With a dog in tow, every part of his journey would become more difficult. "What's wrong with your dog? Why would you want to get rid of it?" The dog gave a whimper, as if taking offense at the implication. The woman's eyes were hidden behind dark shades, but Artie could feel her glare. "I don’t want to part with him" she said, breathing heavily, "but this is what I am supposed to do."

Cabby the dog, as sketched by me

www.wewriwa.com

B.L.O.G. spells LOVE

2009 was the year Idiots and Earthquakes came into the picture, when I published my first ever blog post on the 6th of July. First steps, it was titled. 

I was unsure back then, as to blogging in English was such a good idea for me. First of all: blogging. Hubby and I set up this crazy vacation blog in 2007 and him and I had a blast writing it together. 

I never thought that I would have enough material to write a blog by myself and without a theme. As it turns out, life is an excellent inspiration. 

Secondly, blogging in English? Scary notion. I was adept at comprehending the language, thanks to the crazy amount of English fantasy books I had been reading, movies I had watched, and audiobooks I had listened to. 

Writing in English, I knew, was a different story, as it was a completely untrained muscle. I didn't have much practice, plus I didn't know a lot about writing. I knew I would need a lot of time.


 

Now, with close to four years of exercise under my belt, I have made some progress. I'm beginning to understand what I can and cannot do here on this blog. 





I believe that the early stage of my writing was distinguished by a more artful and spontaneous approach. 

Being green has its advantages and with time, I think I've lost some of that initial spark. I've gained some technical skills however, and I feel as though my intentions in presenting my thoughts have a better chance to come through. Still, the execution sometimes feels clunky compared to those of native speakers.

Why didn't I write in German? No snobbism. It was a question of audience more than anything else. I knew, that my German friends and family would have no problem "understanding" my English. But I didn't want to shut myself off to begin with. 

I'm still thinking about further developing a mean little political blog in German, since there is always room for debate about idiot politicians stomping around our political landscape, causing earthquakes. 

Who knows, once the amount of aggro in my rage bar hits a critical level, it might happen. For now, however, I am a happy blogger slash writer. Yes, this blog is much more than a sidekick to a possible writing career. It still is the main event.

NaNoWriMo: Trash and Tragedies

So, I realized something today. Once I have written down something and locked it as far as the story goes, it is hard, not to say close to impossible for me to "un-think" it. I don't like to drop ideas, partly because I'm lazy but also because I tend to consider myself grandiose enough to deem everything I come up with a treasure.

Today I had to tie in some loose ends, and frankly, some of the ideas just didn't make sense anymore. So, while it is hard to say goodbye to "story trash" it's better to drop it than to keep something that would screw with the basic idea for purely nostalgic or ego reasons. I realize now, that this story is far from what I wanted or expected it to be when I started writing it. It is simultaneously the only thing and the worst thing I will have finished thus far. Yes, this realization was quite painful.

I naively underestimated how much there was to learn when I started writing for an audience bigger than myself and the potted plants in my room. But I'm not waving the flag of defeat, quite the opposite. Now I feel like I can really get started. This was the thing holding me back towards actually becoming a (real) writer.

Nah No Write More

After having written chunks for NaNoWriMo, what could be better than - right - blogging about it as a distraction? The thing is, since my fingers are already in training, there is no reason why I shouldn't  write more, and get them in really good muscle shape for tomorrow. I figured that it's the same as cultivating horny skin on your fingers when playing the guitar.


Thus far, the writing-a-novel-in-a-month experience has been positive. I am not as behind as I thought I would be after having a late start. This is a completely new story I am working on. I had several ideas for what I wanted to write, one was a semi-biographic 1990s inspired homage to grunge music (a crossing between Almost Famous, My So-Called Life, and snippets from my own life), and I might still write that some day, but for now, I need a more plot-driven story with some room to freestyle in between pivotal points, worthy of at least 50000 words.


So, surprise, surprise, I'm writing a fantasy story, and it will be titled Anoethau.

The hero is a bit older this time, male and an ex-convict... after all the "girl action" on The Days Adrift I'd say this is more than welcome. And it feels good to write about manly things for a change.

The difficult thing is that with the goal of having a certain amount of words in the end, I can't edit as I go along, which is something I usually do. This challenge is about finishing something, and doing the editing afterwards. You wouldn't believe how hard that is...I am a neat freak, and I need cleaned up sentences, not the verbal excrements of a first draft. I have to force myself to not look back all the time, which is a challenge all in itself.

We'll see how it goes.

"A Story For The Smart and Beautiful"

In the olden days a book would have been recommended to you by your friends with words such as "hey, this is a good book, you'll like it.." or "it's from the author so-and-so, known for this and that.."

Now, there are all these referential blurbs on book backs, which, especially in the fantasy genre, largely consist of stupid, can't-stop-hitting-myself endorsements. Apparently it's not enough to have it thrown in my face that I am a fan and member of a very earthy genre, one that is frowned upon by pipe smokers, and sneered at by the friends of high literature. I should also be grateful that in recent years, fantasy has risen to the ranks of "somewhat accepted, if you're into this kinda thing."

I may make a mountain out of a molehill here, but damned, I feel insulted. This time, I'm not letting it go, and all because of the little tiny thing that is printed on the back of A Feast For Crows, book four of the epic fantasy series by George R. R. Martin, a blurb contributed by the Detroit Free Press.

And I quote...

"A fantasy series for hip, smart people, even those who don't read fantasy."

I feel as though I have been slapped in the face. Twice. For one, this little quote takes an unloading dump on the genre. It implies that hip, smart people normally don't read stupid shit like fantasy. Pardon my French. Oh yes, the hip and & smart are renowned for reading smart books by authors whose names they memorized to pronounce them correctly. In case someone asks. Fine, let them feel superior: cunt and Kant - it sounds the same to me..

By the way, the smartsters and/or hipsters also take last year's winner copy of the Pulitzer with them to their beach summer vacation - where they hope to be seen reading it...pretend to read it..don't read it.






Ok, first slap about that blurb! The second one, "(...) even those who don't read fantasy." 
I know what they meant: it's so good you'll actually want to read it despite the genre.

Yet I feel like I'm on a backhanded sales pitch against the genre, not for a book.

"Fantasy - why it is not as crappy as you thought, smart people!"

Excuse me, but what is so third-rate about that particular genre? Do we call it childish, because it doesn't portray the real world? Is Scifi childish? You know, it has also thingies in it that don't exist in the "real" world.

Let's say, a fairy, a magician and a winged horse make you want to vomit (or in Scifi's case: a spaceship, an alien and a cyborg), and it's just not your cup of tea to have these things in a story. You'd be inclined to move on to something else. But would you go as far as to deem it beneath you because it has some disconcerting elements? Let me tell you something, outraged snot-nosed pretense-readers: you, the ones who are most disconcerted are the ones who would get the most out of reading those stories. Because you seem so easily distracted by all those elements. A common trick of the abstracting genre is to create a distance (future or middle age settings, doesn't matter) that allows you to actually see where there are things similar rather than different. I'm not saying that every fantasy writer puts the same amount of effort into it, but the great ones do. The point is that in a book, you don't need the real world copied one-to-on to decide if a story is meaningful or relevant to you. It's the story that does that.

So, since I gave vent to my anger, let's move on to the second blurb on the book.

"A once-in-a-generation work of fiction that manages to entertain readers while elevating an entire genre to fine literature." 

Thank you, I feel even worse now, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.



Care to share some bad blurbs from the book you read right now?

Six-Sentence-Sunday

*Random choice of six sentences from my Work-In-Progress*

She came to realize that Nian and his friends truly were the voiceless of this world, dispossessed and completely stripped of their rights 

as human beings. 

As she thought about the inequity of the very system she was about to become a part of, her strides turned into furious stomps. 

They reached the little grove at noon and found a shady and cool site amidst the trees where Kaley leaned against a mighty stem to rest for a while. 

Her feet were sore, and she felt the bark clinging to her from behind, which provided some much needed relief to her back. 

Nian sat down across from her, huddling up against a bulky stub of a tree. 

He didn't look tired at all, he was just as hungry as he always was, and once again Kaley marvelled at his resiliance against physical strain.