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

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.

First Page Review: Spellbloom

Hey everyone, and hello to first page review! Always exciting to get a little bit of feedback on the first few words of a story. This is taken from the first story I ever thought out and wrote down, titled Spellbloom, a contemporary fantasy tale. It is the one story closest to my heart, but it is yet to be finished on paper. I'm so hestitant when it comes to writing this story. In the hopes of getting more experienced at storytelling, I never want to touch it to not spoil it with mediocre writing, if that makes any sense. :) I started writing it two years ago, and I'm not even halfway finished, but I edited bits and pieces of it. The picture you see is a home-brewed graphic experiment that may or may not be the real cover for the book one day. 

Looking forward to reading your comments and suggestions and I can't wait to visit your blogs and to read your stories. :)

1.

Pador stared at the portrait in silence. The face in the picture frame stared back at him. He knew that the years had given him a few hard lines around the mouth, and the painter hadn’t wasted any time sugar-coating the truth.

The people of Indova called Pador rigorous, a man purported to rule with a strict vision of things that needed to be done. He had never seen himself that way. The things to be done most rarely are what everyone agrees with, his father used to say. Unlike Pador, he had been the leader of a family of 4, not millions. Pador sighed.

At least in the picture he looked the part of the leader, Pador thought, carrying the bearings of Indova on his chest, the blue cloak hovering over the black cliffs of the Seam, the traditional symbol for the first Mage Rebellion nearly 300 years ago. His ancestors had fought in that battle, and many of them had lost their lives.

He had always worn his blue cloak with pride, ever since the day he got elected. He had made a name for himself in the Academy, and he was a reasonable choice for the Council. The fact that he didn't want the job was of little importance and just went to show how the laws of Indova bestowed all power upon the election committee. The committee had seen aptitude and farsightedness in equal measure in him, and none of the other candidates. Sometimes Pador still thought they'd made a terrible mistake choosing him, but his advisor had told him that his doubts proved him to be the right choice all the more. 

Pador knew his duties, and well enough to realize that anyone would have a hard time ruling a country, at least if he tried to do it well. Sometimes however he caught himself thinking that there might be someone out there who would enjoy it more than he did. He sighed again, a heavy and deep sigh – resonating back at him from the walls of the hallway. He turned around to go back to his office. He longed for this day to be over, but it wasn’t even close to noon. He had several ministers to meet still, representatives to greet with a smile on his face and their pleas to suffer through. He would be able to visit Janey thereafter – if it wasn’t too late in the day. He had been looking forward to seeing her all week, yet he hated visitation days because they would only sound in another 6 long days of waiting. He missed the times when he saw her each day, the times when they were freshmen in the Academy and their assignments would bring them to different places all across Fallwyne. He was a better man with her by his side, always, and a happier one, but unfortunately, there were other things to consider, more important things such as her health. Janey was his wife and he loved her dearly, but he couldn’t risk exposing herself to him more than once a week. He was poison to her, and she needed all the time she could get to recover from his visits. It was the only way they could be together at all.

Pador opened the large wooden door to his office and saw Aeron sitting in one of the high visitor’s chairs. He got up to greet him as he saw him enter, “Ah, there you are”. His black cloak swirled as he rose. Pador always thought that there was no one who wore the Guardian’s cloak as well as Aeron, although there certainly were Guardians who took their responsibilities more seriously than he did. They had been friends for over a decade, and now wasn’t the time to question his work ethic. 
“Do you have a minute or two?” Pador knew, that, with Aeron, it would never only take a minute or two, but he nodded.   
“What’s going on?” he closed the door behind him. Aeron sat down again, this time on the corner of Pador’s large writing desk, in between red document folders and a pile of mail.

“Wintershedge has sent word of their arrival.”

“And?”

Apparently the girl has already fallen ill with the bloom.”

“What!? Oh no!” Pador was dismayed at these news. He started pacing up and down the room.

“How bad is it?”

Aeron hesitated. “She’s…functional, but very weak. The journey was exhausting for her.”

“Is she bedridden?”

“Unfortunately yes.”

“Good gods.. how did this happen so quickly?”

Pador massaged the few stubbles on his chin. “That’s bad…  I shouldn’t have sent them away together..”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, we don’t know the details. There is still a possibility that she’s just sick with some other illness.

“Please,” Pador said, “you know as well as I that there is no one better suited to judge the onsets of second bloom than their people.”

Aeron didn’t respond. 
“We should offer to help them, bring them back to the city after…. they are done..” He sat down. The regent's chair was heavy and cumbersome.
"I had no right..."
He felt Aeron’s hand on his shoulder moments later.

“You did it for Janey.”

Bad Mother of Ideas!

Writing is such an odd activity compared to some of the other things I do for fun. First of all, unlike the other stuff, the process is not as much fun whilst I do it, as it is to file away a story - and knowing that an entire universe just sits there, right inside a folder. Finishing is the ultimate reward to writing.

Unfortunately, the finishing line is not always in sight. While I noticed that something always gets my writing started, the commitment to completion part is much harder. It happens, that as I write down an idea, another one pops into my head and as it sits there, making waves, I'm beginning to wonder if the new one wouldn't be much more inviting. Why bother carrying on with a mediocre idea when there's a better one out there? However, I learned from NaNoWriMo that the purpose of writing is not only the idea, but the sticking it out part, and that's why the yearly writing challenge is such an essential experience.

As I'm looking through my archives, there are tons of orphaned beginnings, some of them only one sentence long. It's fun to look at these fragments from time to time and think about what they could have become, if I hadn't so callously abandoned them..

This is me in the front yard! one of them begins (and it ends right there as well).

And I still have no idea which direction this would have gone. Yard - then what? Kitchen? Probably nowhere.

Mother never was particularly versatile in her ways to torture me... another one goes.

I like to believe that there is a story to be told, second nature to my first.

I usually hate re-reading these kinds of self-important notes. 90 percent of the time I am convinced I can barely compose a full sentence, let alone swoop anyone away with the cut of my quill. Writer's baggage!


Anyways, there is more.

Ryku, I’m yelling, Ryyyykuuu, but she doesn’t look up from the thing she made out of mud. That’s the thing with kids. I approach her and she finally looks up at me. There you are! she says, and I detect rebuke. Typical, I think, that she’d twist it like that; as if she had been waiting for me, not the other way around. 

A cute children's story I was working on for a bit. Well five sentences long to be exact. 

The quickest way to hell is taking in a visitor. I titled this one Purgatorial Suspense.

Barlo was a vile man, a boy who grew up to bring nightmares. He had outgrown his father by the age of ten...

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

Short Notice: Heartbeat

There are many forces at work, the forces that cause the beating of your heart. Having a sinoatrial node is one of those things. It is the tissue, that will keep the heart in a certain steady pace. Electrophysiology gives rise to the short circuit, or conduit of heartbeat.

Have you ever wondered if there is such a thing as a long circuit? It may sound silly, but yes, I'm asking for the electropsychology of heartbeat, or something that gives some form of motivation for it to beat.

(Yes, I know... extra sappy intro today. Feel free to blame it on the serious case of candy and teddy bear poisoning I am currently suffering from..)

Still, back to the potential existence of e-psychology..

Is there, or is there not such a thing as a heartbeat motivation? As expected, what tells your heart to beat is not the heart itself but something entirely different..

Right, and we're here again at Grand Central. It's the brain. It always seems to come down to it! Brain is in charge of all things voluntary and involuntary. It is Mommy Goose, at the head end of the table, telling her children (body parts) what to do. That's her job.

What she likes to do in her time off however, is to read a good book, a great one even, if there is time. Were it not for those excellent stories, shimmering horizons and glaring heroes, Mommy wouldn't have a reason to get out of bed once that dark, cloud-covered Monday morning comes, again and again, another one each week. 

Opinions differ on this question. Many people argue that that is not motivation however; motivation - to them - is things we don't have, future-wants. They state that it's money or the prospect of success keeping us going, as in reasons why we want to strive forward, implying that we're dutiful creatures, caring creatures, even greedy ones first, and explorers second.

But think about it; while a job, well done or a sorrow, nullified may cause ephemeral satisfaction in the reward center of your brain (aka Mommy's living room), we tend to quickly shrug it off and sign another small check mark on that long list of to-do's. And as we move on we forget about it. That list is as long as our lives. 

Because there is no long-term significance in short-sighted achievements. Wheew, that was a mouthful. Better focus on the keeping-ourselves-entertained-while-we-get-there part, wherever the destination may be. Hoping for metamorphosis through things to come is less rewarding than taking that brain out for a spin and let it see things; it will light up like a Christmas tree and bring happiness; yap, keep it circulated - that's what we are wired for. And all those things, life, stories, real or imaginary, they are right there, tangible and up for grabs.

Excellent defib for tired hearts: Howl's Moving Castle

~Get well soon, hubbs!~