Inspiration: Creature Feature with a Difference...

I have a secret to share.  I actually love the TV show, River Monsters.  For those who have never seen this program it's about a marine biologist, Jeremy Wade, who scouts places like the Amazon in search for underwater predators that could explain particularly gruesome legends; people mysteriously dragged into the waters and never seen again; boats tipped and limbs bitten off; creatures rising to attack.  As with many cultures, monsters such as these become legendary and things to be feared, but at the end of the day explanations usually fall down to nature.

And in the uncharted Amazon, who knows what lurks out there.  

I'm not really into fishing, and this program features a lot of that, but I just love discovering some of the fish that he comes across, fish that I'd never heard of - and fish that will fit so well in any fantasy world.  Honestly, if you're world-building and have a river that you want to make dangerous, just give it life.  Give it catfish big enough to swallow a human, piranhas that hunt in packs and can clean a bone in seconds, 200lb Tarpons with solid bone heads that leap feet into the air and have been known to tip boats and kill people with a single, unfortunate blow, and, of course, Tiger Fish, also known as the demon fish with its mouth full of razor sharp teeth. 

And not forgetting the smaller creatures that skulk around in the bottom and finish off what others don't eat.  With the amount of flesh eating creatures in the Amazon it's no surprise that once someone goes in, you're lucky if you're ever found.

So with that in mind, why struggle to think of ways to make your world ferocious and dangerous?  Why always look to myth and legend to provide inspiration when all you have to do is look at the nature in our own world?  It can hold answers you never even dreamt of.

The World Is An Awesome Place For Inspiration. . .

My lunch breaks at work mostly comprise of eating while flicking through Google news to find out what's going on around the world, followed by a quick browse through the Entertainment section, followed by a study of the Science section.  I admit that most sciencey stuff goes over my head, but there are still some amazing things going on out there, especially when they post articles about the Mars Rover and it's discoveries.  I follow as Nasa track comets, shooting stars, when satellites come crashing back down (I've often contemplated walking around with an umbrella in case something wants to hit me on the head... lol).  At the moment I'm following news on the sun's poles shifting and wondering what impact it will have on us.  Apparently it's an 11 year cycle and results in some amazing Northern Lights - which I would absolutely love to see.

The Northern Lights (Aurora Borealis) are a classic example of how this world alone - forgetting all the amazing things that are being discovered among the skies - is over-flowing with inspiration.  I've used the Aurora Borealis in my pieces before.  It's a spectacular phenomena that isn't used enough.

Or how an Albatross can travel 10,000 miles without landing or using any energy reserves.  It lives on its 3.5m wingspan...

Another thing that's captured my attention today is the eruption of Mount Etna.  Did you know volcanoes can blow smoke rings...???  National Geographic published some spectacular photos of Mount Etna.  It reminded me of world building and the landscapes you can include.  Imagine something like this becoming a daily occurrence.  Imagine the backdrop you'd give your story?  I love it all :)  So if you're looking for inspiration on world building and what to include, just read the Science Section on Google News...

       

Mummy, Where Do Dragon's Come From?

Look at this skull; what do you see? I see a Dragon. I see horns on both its beaked nose and above its eyes - and I'm not the only person to see this. This skull could be the connection between myth and reality. This is, in fact the skull of a Dinosaur - a Dracorex Hogwartsia (named - for reasons I'm not going to look up - after the Harry Potter series. Oh yeah, fact!).

The thing is, this beast could have been around with our early ancestors, thus creating a time when people did, in fact, roam with dragons. Back then, as the stories past verbally down from generation to generation, they grew with intensity; fact became exaggerated, then become a legend, followed by a myth - a time when dragons roamed the earth.

And lets face it, if an ancient Egyptian stumbled across this skull, they wouldn't exactly say, "Oh, that's a dinosaur fossil." No, it would fuel their mythological beliefs.

Take, as another example, the ancient Greeks, a civilisation famous for its unique religious views and legends. One famous mythological creature was the cyclops, a huge one-eyed beast. Where did this come from? Well, the remains of giant mammoths apparently scatter across Greek and neighbouring lands. One theory is that the Greeks stumbled across many of these skulls and, not knowing what they were, saw them for what they looked like, mistaking the huge nasal cavity for a single eye socket, and thus creating the legend of the cyclops.

Also, Greek legends are filled with creatures and gods that could turn people to stone, such as Medusa. As everyone knows, after several million years of lying in rock, dinosaur bones become fossils, ie stone. What if the ancients Greeks saw this and their only plausible theory was that they were turned - just like the kraken?

There are many people out there who are trying to connect Dinosaur fossils with myth, and another one that has them hungry is the Triceratops. Could a member of its family, with their beak nose, have given birth to the legend of the Griffin? And could some ancient discovered fossil have fueled the Chinese dragon myth?

It's a plausible concept. Stories and pictures become like Chinese whispers through time, and the creatures of myth that we are seeing today could have once been born from the discovery of dinosaur remains.

This subject really interested me this week, and as a writer I thought it was a great tool to consider when world building. If your world, like the ancient Greeks, is full of colourful, fantastic myths and legends then it may also help to understand where these stories originated from, giving your world a sense of depth and time. Just where do your dragons come from???

Creating A World of Fairies . . .

My 8 year old neice lost a tooth the other week. As usual she placed the tooth under her pillow and went to sleep dreaming of the tooth fairy coming to replace her tooth with a shiny coin that she could spend. But the tooth wasn't the only thing she left. She also left a tiny little pad, and on each page was a question for the fairy.

It was such a sweet thing that my sister-in-law had to answer the questions, but there was a problem. My neice knew her handwriting and so she needed to come up with an alternative. Me.

I had a field day with this. I brought a little pad with a picture of a fairy on the front and I copied and answered each and every question. In doing so I actually created an entire world of fairies and their habitat, something that became so real in my mind that who knows where it could lead with future writing projects.

Allow me to share how the tooth fairy answered the questions of an 8 year old girl:

Why do you need our teeth?

Teeth have a lot of something called 'Calcium' inside them. We use this calcium to make other teeth and help all the animals out there who have toothaches or who need new teeth.

What do you eat?

We eat anything nature can give us.

What happens when you lose your teeth?
When we lose our teeth we put them with all the others that we have collected to help other animals in need.


Who takes your teeth away?

We are in charge of our own teeth and take them to the collection ourselves.

Do you have pets?

No, we don't have pets but we have many wild friends.

What do you make our teeth into?

We use the 'Calcium' in your teeth to make and mould or repair other teeth for all the animals.

Are you scared of anything?

No, but we are very shy which is why you never see us.

Do you have babies?

Yes we have families, and our young fairies go to fairy school to learn how to become good tooth fairies.

How big is your food?

Our food can be tiny nibbles to something much bigger than us depending on what we can find. We always cut it down to size and share.

Where do you get your powers?

Our powers come naturally to us, just like you can naturally talk, run around and climb trees.

How big is the world to you?

The world is a very big place to us, but when flying it doesn't take long to get round.

What are your houses like?

Some build houses with twigs and leaves. Others like to live in trees or bushes. Trees are our favourite places as they last a long time and keep us warm and cosy.

Do you live under mushrooms?

No, but we do like to play around them and use them as umbrellas when it rains.

What do you wear?

Spider webs make lovely silk and we use this to weave and make material which makes our clothes. We use flowers to make the material into different colours.

Who are your friends?

My best friend is another fairy called Taloula. She has long blonde hair and blue eyes. But I am also very good friends with other fairies and lots of insects and animals.

Do you have teddies?

Young fairies do. These are made with the same spider webs that make our clothes.

Are you friends with bugs?

Some of our bestest friends are bugs. We love having piggy back rides with butterflies, moths and dragonflies. They are very nice and very pretty. Spiders are very friendly to us and very helpful too. They love weaving their webs for us to use. Lady birds are always funny and make us laugh.

It's surprising how much sense this all made to an 8 year old girl...

Pic of the Week . . . Assassin's Creed

Something a little different today. I thought I'd go with the topic of Assassins this week, to help inspiration for a new short story of mine. This brought Assassin's Creed to my attention. Wow!

Assassin's Creed is a game and normally I'm not a gaming person, but if I was, Assassin's Creed would be the thing I'd go for. I don't know much about it, but from what I've seen in adverts, it looks pretty awesome.

This got me thinking. I imagine that creating a computer game is much like creating a novel - without all the techno jargon that goes with it. You have to build your world and make it real; you have to create characters; you have to give it a story, a reason, and you have to put obstacles in their way to make things interesting.

Visually, the main character - the assassin - is stunning. Unfortunately I don't know a lot about the game to comment on anything else, but what a character he'd make in a work of fiction. And I have to say, I'd rather read about him as opposed to the Super Mario Brothers.

(However the choice between the assassin and his Lego version is a different matter...lol).

Anyway, Pic of the Week - Art from Assassin's Creed.

Have a good weekend.

Creating Real Characters . . .

My thoughts on this topic:

I read a blog not so long ago about whether or not your protagonist should appear pleasing to the eye - ie, should they be the tall, dark handsome stranger that us women often fantasise about - or should they be rugged with flaws?

Well, there's no right or wrong answer. I believe it's down to the author. If you want your character to be the next Casanova, to be dashing and handsome and be able to sweep women off their feet with just a whisper, then so be it. But if you need your protagonist to be disfigured in someway that makes them feel ugly, then you should. It all boils down to the story you're creating and who needs to be involved.

In my opinion, a protagonist who's either disfigured or drop-dead gorgeous doesn't alter a good read.

But for characters to feel real, they do need flaws. A lot of writers with good-looking protagonists compensate by giving them 'psychological problems'. Maybe they're smug, knowing that they're good-looking, and they constantly look down their noses at others.

Or those who are disfigured, how would you have them be? Underneath their scars, could they be the nicest person in the world? Is that nice person trapped under all the resentment that they harbour over their looks, the main reason why people cross the street when they see them? Either way, these little things help give a character depth, making them feel real.

A couple of examples:

Phantom of the Opera: He hid his scarred face under a mask and lived under the opera house where no one could see him, then fell in love with Christine after hearing her sing. But Christine was able to see past the scars and his bitterness and fall for him, too (I'm guessing at the storyline here).

Quasimodo from the Hunchback of Notre Dame: Seriously disfigured and kept in the tower away from civilisation - until he falls for a gypsy woman.


THEN - something I watched the other night - V for Vendetta: Horribly disfigured and hides beneath the mask of Guy Fawkes. He's a monstrous terrorist who's killing everyone involved in what happened to him - but beneath he's a kind man who is reminded that he is capable of loving - and of being loved (rather touching).

But then, what about those in between? Those who aren't stereotypical, Hollywood hunks, but those who aren't disfigured. One man has caught my attention. Professor Brian Cox. He presents the TV Documentary, Wonders of the Universe, which explains about the big bang theory and supa-novas. He freaks me out. When he's quiet, he looks fine, but when he talks he has a constant, wide grin on his face, with those round, chubby, gleaming cheeks - and the way his whole mouth moves when he talks. It's probably just me, but there's something about him that makes me question his looks . . . do I like him or don't I? . . . or are these questions that I see one of my characters asking? Forget Hollywood Hunks (if that's possible). These are the real people that would inhabit worlds of fiction.

What do you think about this guy? I know I'm being vain - and I apologise if it sounds like I'm judging him on his looks alone.

Normal . . . I'm thinking, yeah, he looks ok . . .




Then there's the grin - and yes it is that wide when he speaks, too . . . lol

Sci-Fi V's Fantasy . . .

I made a discovery last night. That discovery was the fact that I would never be able to write a piece of serious Sci-Fi.

I like Sci-fi, but I mainly stick to watching movies as opposed to reading books. Having mentally scanned through my book mountain, I don't actually recall owning anything in that genre. I have horror (lots of horror), thriller, drama, historical, romance, adventure and fantasy etc - but no Sci-fi. (note to self: read a Sci-Fi novel)

I used to believe that when writing, there was a fine line between fantasy and Sci-fi. They come part and parcel. When hunting for publishers and agents, amoung their lists of accepted genres is their list of unaccepted genres - usually including fantasy and Sci-Fi.

In my opinion the two genres are very similar in that the worlds they are based in is nine-times-out-of-ten completely fictional. They have fantastical characters and aliens, robots and mythical creatures, space ships and enchanted lands, scorcery and technology. However, one happens in space and one happens on land. That's the basic difference.

So why, coming from a person who has devoted the best part of their years to writing fantasy, will I not be able to write Sci-Fi?

The truth is . . . I don't have the brains!

A few people in our writers' circle write Sci-fi, and last night we gave critique to a short piece. And it was a good piece. It was well written, easy to follow, and descriptive enough for me to imagine where we were. Okay, there were a few points regarding characterisation etc, but nothing that couldn't be fixed.

Then they decided to delve deeper into the Science Fiction of the story - and I'm not kidding, I was lost. These people were talking about the laws of physics, what decay would be like in a world with no atmosphere, how the world would differ in sight because of the lack of atmosphere (there wouldn't be a blue sky, for starters. Its the atmosphere that makes that blue) etc. I was stunned. They were discussing the reasons why a world would be desolate, what could possibly have happened to kill the entire world off, and the natural events that would follow within the next million years. I didn't know any of this - didn't even have the foggiest clue as to what they were talking about half the time.

I couldn't help but sit in silence throughout most of it. I offered my part where I could, but I soon realised that writing Sci-Fi is so much different to writing fantasy. There are rules that need to be followed to make it sound plausible and possible, whereas with Fantasy we can just add mystical reasoning - 'it's like that because it is . . .'

Nope, I'm blonde, and when it comes to Sci-Fi, it shows.

Pic of the Week . . . Elena Dudina

I've always been a bit of a traditionalist, and my taste in art has never been an exception - until today. I've always liked art that's been created with a paintbrush or some other means that has relied on manual talent.

In other words, I like artists who can draw, and not the type that relies on a computer to create their artistic masterpiece (despite the fact that some of these look pretty good - I don't deny that).

Then I discovered Elena Dudina.

Elena Dudina is what you call a 'photomanipulator'. I presume this means she takes photos and alters them to create her pieces. As soon as I saw her work I instantly fell in love, and decided that she just HAD to have a mention today.

Have a look and see what you think . . .

Doodles of a Writer . . .

Well, after my discovery on Friday of Jason Chan and his fantastic piece, I decided to go home and attempt my own piece.

As dipicted in my new novel, the King of the Seas is a legendary creature that lurks beneath the waves, consisting of the torso of a man and the tenticles of an octopus (thought I was being original...meh!). This was what my imagination saw.

Anyway, as stated in my profile I'm also a bit talented with the grahite pencil. After some time of consideration, I've decided to put to use the 'Pages' feature on blogger and create a page purly for my art.

Say Hi to the new page 'Doodles of a Writer' . . .

It's a work in progress at the moment, and I am in the process of loading pictures. Stay tuned.

I do have to warn some people though about the nudity. I love drawing the human body - what can I say . . .

Enjoy.

Pic of the Week . . . Christophe Vacher . . .

This week, continuing on with last week's theme of 'dreamscapes', comes a newly discovered artist to my gallery. Christophe Vacher . . .

Christophe Vacher is a French artist who's works remind me of something from dreams. He has also worked on backgrounds for animated films such as 'The Hunchback of Notre-Dame' and 'Fantazia 2000', and has been in talks with Director Shane Acker about the new up and coming film '9' - (as stated on his website).

The piece I've chosen for this week's Pic of the Week is titled 'The Gate'. Does it inspire you as much as it does me?

Ahh, the endless story possibilities . . .

'The Gate . . .' by Christophe Vacher

Creating 'Awesome' Characters . . .

One word and one word alone inspired today's post. That word?

Awesome!

Why? Okay, allow me to explain. Who out there has heard and ever watched the sitcom `How I Met Your Mother`? For those who don't know, this sitcom is based around a group of five friends in New York City. Each differ from the next and each have their own little habits and problems. One word they always use is AWESOME, and it fits their character's dialogue well.

However, I tried it the other day. I used that one word in a sentence when talking to a friend, and suddenly I felt very silly. The word just didn't have the same effect. It didn't sound right. It wasn't in my character to say such a thing, and I realised that I should never use that word in conversation again. But this made me think.

How well do you know your characters, and are you making them say things that are causing them to feel just damn-right silly?

Dialogue is an important tool when writing a story. It breaths life to your character and helps to show the sort of person they really are. It's also a great way to give them independence and individuality. There's nothing worse than reading a story where every single character appears the same.

Let me give you an example: Imagine that before you stands two little girls of approximately ten years old. Each share the same golden ringlets, the same blue eyes, the same pretty blue dress, and the same cheeky but innocent little grin. You realise then that you are either seeing double or they are identical twins. They are the same. How are you ever to tell them apart?

In writing, that's easy. You give them both a complete different voice. One could be an optimistic, the other could be a pessimistic. One could be very well spoken, the other could be full of slang and sarcasm. One could be normal, the other could have a slight stammer.

The idea is that if you took all the narrative away so that all remained was dialogue, you would still know who was talking. You would be able to pick out accents and little differences in speech. You would know that the little girl on the left said this, and the girl on the right said that.

This makes characters come alive. It gives them individuality and keeps them interesting for the reader. No one wants to read something where everyone is the same. That can be very boring and monotonous.

Likewise if you give someone something to say that is completely out of their character. You can't put a Medieval Knight upon a daring steed, readying to do battle with a blood-thirsty prince in order to save the throne and the beautiful princess in a situation like this. . .

"My liege," says the Medieval Knight as he steadys his excited steed. "The enemy is waiting upon the brow of the hill. Shall we ride to battle?" His eyes beneath his armour glint in the moonlight as they look upon the beauty of the princess.

The King gives a nod. "Indeed, brave Knight. Ride with the wind, and fight strong!"

The princess places her token, a handkerchief of the finest white silk, on the end of the Knight's staff. "And may a thousand of the lord's pure white doves fly above you and watch over you, and may they bring you swiftly from harm and back into my arms before the rising of the sun. For then you will be gallant and noble enough to win my hand in marriage."

Despite the threat of the battle looming on the horizon, and of the slim chances of him making it back unscathed, the Knight smiles. "Awesome!"


(Actually, in certain circumstances, that could work . . .)

Pic of the Week . . . Dreamscape . . .

I originally saw this picture on a blog that I follow, and I instantly fell in love with it. It's available to download as a wallpaper but I don't know the artist.

For me, it's a wonderful, relaxing dreamscape that harbours mysterious enchantment. It also breaths life to endless story possibilities, and this made me wonder.

For all you fantasy writers out there, how much dreamscape does your world have? Is it home to enchanting places like this? I feel that by adding enchantment adds history and depth to a world, bringing it more to life and making you feel like you'd rather live there than here. I love it, its possibilities, and its...well...entire dreaminess...

Opening Chapter . . .

Hi everyone.

As promised, here is the first draft of the opening chapter for my new novel. Feel free to leave feedback if you want (every little helps) but mostly...enjoy.

Lady of the Seas

Opening Chapter

“GET those god-damn sails in!”

The Captain’s yell struggled to be heard over the constant roar of the seas. He fought to keep his grip on the ship’s wheel, his hands trying to hold on to the wet wood. A force kept yanking at it, wanting to turn it to port and he put in all his strength to keep it from going.

Most of his crew were on deck, fighting and trying to prevent the ship from being turned by the wind. Men were climbing up the shrouds of the masts to help bring in the sails. Without them catching the wind, the pressure on the ship would be reduced but it was proving a difficult task. The storm was battering them. The Captain’s heart jolted each time he saw one of his men slip from their footings around the mast. They yelled orders and encouragement to each other as they gathered the material up, suffering the onslaught of rain and gales. They worked as a team, fighting the winds that wanted to turn them into the vicious waves. If that happened the Scarlet Sail would then become vulnerable to whatever the storm threw at them. They had to keep her straight.

The Captain groaned, baring his teeth as he pushed against the wheel, trying to keep it from going its own way. The deck around him was slippery, and as the ship veered over, his feet slid. He yelled as he fell, clinging on to the wheel for support. The wheel turned in the direction he didn’t want it to go. His legs scrambled, his feet searching for the grip he needed to push himself back up, and just as he found it, a torrent of water engulfed him.

He fell back down, his fingers just hooking the wheel. Catching his breath, he gave another yell.

The ship was turning.

As the wave subsided, the water draining back to where it came from, the Captain found his footing again and heaved himself up. His eyes stung and his throat throbbed with the amount of seawater he had swallowed, but he couldn’t care about that now. He had to get the ship back on course. Standing up against the wind and rain, he pushed himself against the wheel. It didn’t want to move. The force was too great for one man. The ship veered again, rolling with the giant waves, and he could see the ocean’s surface over the edge of the deck. The ship was leaning too much. He had to win her back.

His continuous yells were lost amid the crashing thunder. A streak of fork lightning illuminated the black seas, and the Captain’s eyes opened wide with horror at the sight of the surrounding waves. If he didn’t turn the wheel soon they would crush the Scarlet Sail as if she were made of paper. They would smash her apart, taking the lives of everyone on board.

“Turn, you bitch!” he screamed into the storm.

A second pair of hands joined his, gripping the slippery wood and heaving. The Captain looked at the Master’s Mate. His gaze spoke of his gratitude, and as both men pulled on the wheel, it began to turn. The Scarlet Sail struggled against the onslaught, twisting and groaning with the force of the storm, but despite everything, she obeyed. The Captain laughed with triumph as his control over the vessel came back. They weren’t beaten yet.

Another wave crashed over the deck, pounding down on both men, but they kept control. The ship leaned with another wave. A crew member screamed as he slipped across the deck to the other side. The Captain watched, powerless to help, but was glad to see him crash against the ballast railing instead of slipping overboard. Another member grabbed him, pulled him to his feet and slipped a rope around to secure him.

His crew were strong, but the storm was stronger. They were struggling and weakening quick. He didn’t know how much more they would be able to tolerate. They had been battling this storm for the best part for three days, but today was by far the worst. The winds had changed direction and the waves were now taller than the Scarlet Sail herself. Little sleep had been had and there was no time for eating. The galley fires had to be extinguished incase it spread, and no food was cooked.

A few injured men lay huddled below decks, unable to assist in the battle and unable to get comfortable with the constant movement. They had no choice but to look after themselves, to tend to their own wounds, and pray that the storm would soon subside.

Below them more yells echoed about the hull as men worked the bilge pumps, but as quick as they were removing the floodwaters, more was replacing it. It was a continuous battle that they couldn’t win. And about them, others scuttled around, repairing any damage that the Scarlet Sail sustained. It had to be done quick, make-shift, if necessary. If a split was left for too long at sea, it could rip the ship apart. It needed to be fixed as soon as it appeared.

The Captain could feel his crew’s pain. They were exhausted, but they couldn’t stop. If they did, they knew their lives would be handed to the seas. They refused to go without a fight, and they refused to let the ship give them up. She had been battered, broken, repaired, broken again, but still she sailed on, crashing against the waves, rolling with the winds and fighting her way through. The Scarlet Sail was as strong as the crew who sailed her, but even she had her weaknesses, and the Captain wept for her. He didn’t know how long she could fight, didn’t know how much strength she had left in her, but he had to hope that she had enough to see them through the storm. She had come too far to give up.

The cracking sound was one that the Captain had dreaded to hear. It was louder than the thunder that exploded overhead and louder than the crash of the surrounding waves. It was the sound of the Scarlet Sail breaking. Another flash of lightning illuminated the sight of the Foremast as it split half way down. His men screamed in panic and horror as the beam toppled forward, pulling sails and ropes with it. They scuttled out of its way as it crushed the deck where it landed. Screams of agony came from those who had been pulled down with it, along with those who hadn’t managed to run in time.

One voice in particular struck the Captain as he heard it fall overboard and be engulfed by the seas, lost forever. He wanted to mourn the loss but it spurred on his determination to survive this and to bring the Scarlet Sail and her crew to safety.

He gripped the wheel tighter as another wave pounded him.

Throughout the commotion of the breaking mast, the Captain refused to acknowledge how much damage it had caused at the bow. As he fought to keep control, he was unaware of the anchor stay being shattered and of the anchor falling from the ship. It plunged into the black waters, sinking deep, and pulling the anchor rope with it. The weight carried the anchor through the murky water straight to the seabed where it collided with the submerged rocks.

The storm forced the Scarlet Sail onwards, her anchor dragging. She lurched on the waves, one minute anchored, the next free. The Captain could feel the jerking movements on the wheel and applied more pressure in fighting to keep her steady, unaware of what was happening below the surface.

The anchor continued to drag and then came up against a large boulder that it hooked on. The boulder leered back, its shape resembling the form of the King of the Seas, with the torso of a man and the tendrils of an octopus. The anchor gripped firm, refusing to let go, and the boulder rocked with the pressure. As the Captain continued to struggle at the helm above, the boulder gave and toppled on its side. The seabed stirred, sending a cloud of sand rising up into the whirling tides, and from beneath the boulder something emerged that resembled a large bubble. It cut through the dust cloud, ascending through the stormy waters and up towards the Scarlet Sail.

The anchor stayed fast to the mysterious carved boulder, pulling the anchor rope taught, and no matter how much effort the Captain put into holding the wheel, he couldn’t stop the ship from turning.

Dream Within A Dream . . .

We set ourselves a little project the other week. We had to take a poem or the lyrics of a song, and convert it into a short story.

I'm no poet, and poetry doesn't hold much interest for me, BUT I do like Edgar Allan Poe. His poems are usually dark and sad (probably why I like them) and his most famous piece was `the Raven`, which inspired The Crow series, films, books and comics. I considered shoosing this, but then I decided against it. Instead, I chose`A Dream Within A Dream`.

A Dream Within A Dream
by

Edgar Allan Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

There was nothing I could have done. Everyone had told me. She had got it in her mind that this was what she wanted to do, and there wasn’t anyone out there who could have done a single thing to change it.

My love was like that. Stubborn. She had the kind of mind that when it was set, it was set in concrete. There was no dislodging it or dissuading it. It was made and it was final.

No one could have prevented what happened.

As I walked along the shores I pondered the question. My bare feet sunk deep into the wet sand every time they trod. I used to like the feeling. We both had spent hours laughing at the feel of the sand as it pushed between our toes. Now it was just me, and the sand was nothing but irritating.

I had often found inspiration as I walked along these shores. Those inspirations soon found themselves turning to words as I created stories of fiction. Sometimes I even cut our walks short so that I could go home and write. My love never complained. She supported me. She understood when I needed to shut myself away, when I needed to be alone for hours on end, hours that often turned to days.

She had always accepted this, and I loved her all the more for it. But did I ever tell her? I was sure that I had, on many occasions, but now I wonder whether it had been enough. I didn’t pay her as much attention as she needed, and I didn’t realise this until it was too late. The moment I walked into that room I knew. I knew what she had done and what had happened.

My world crumbled the instant my eyes fell upon the sight of her. She had been lying there a while, with me completely unaware as I worked in the other room. I had no idea. She had given me no clues, had shown no indication that this was what she intended to do. But then even if she had, would I have picked up on them? I was so consumed in my world of fiction that everything else was just a blur in my mind. She could have been screaming for help at the top of her voice, but I heard not a whisper of her torment.

On the surf tormented shores, I crouched. I watched the surf as it rolled in over the sands, reaching just in front of me before being swept back. I inhaled the saltiness in the air and listened to the hiss of the sand as the surf washed over it.

I had counted just six tablets from a bottle originally containing twenty that day, and my heart leapt with dismay as I realised where the other fourteen had gone. She had swallowed them. One tablet was enough to ensure you experienced a restful, uninterrupted nights sleep. Fourteen ensured you never woke. My love had wanted a restful peace that she never wanted to wake from. She wanted to live forever in her dream.

She was dead.

Reaching down, my fingers submerged themselves beneath the sand, each grain giving way to my presence. Curling my hand, I cupped a handful and lifted it from the shores, but no matter how tight I held them, I couldn’t stop the grains from falling through. It reminded me of how I had let my love slip through my fingers with such ease. She could have been helped, she could still be alive, but the trickling sands continued to scream of my incompetence and my failure towards her.

As I watched the last of the grains fall back to the sands I couldn’t help but weep.

Progress in Writing . . .

I had a pleasent surprise last night. Working away on my current piece, I decided to do a word count. I usually do this periodically to know how far I've got, and it gives me a rough idea how far I have to go.


I don't know how other people work, and there are so many other writers that I know with working formats that I can't get on with. One person writes a novel like a series of short stories and then pieces them together; works perfectly for them. Someone else may not have a plan at all and find it difficult to stick to one. Their characters drift from scene to scene, and both them and the writer have absolutely no idea what's coming around the corner. It can be an exciting way of writing, discovering what fate has in store for your characters, and it can have some amazing results.


But they're not for me. I'm a planner - of sorts. I know the beginning of my story; I know the end of my story; I know important turning points throughout my story, and the parts I have to drift across are the parts inbetween these. I know where my characters are going. I know where they've come from and I know what's in store for them, be it a happy ending or a tragedy. I know it all. I plan. And while I'm working on one piece, I'm planning the next, although most of the planning is done in my head. I actually have very few notes written down.


Oh yes, I have many novels planned for the future, and I know what one is coming next.


My last novel (my 14th...ish) was the first novel where I implented the skills of proper world building. I must have spent well over a year editing it, slowly bringing my world to life, layer by layer. I did spend a long time editing it and putting it through critiques, but I didn't mind this. All my stories are based in this fantasy world called the Lieflunds, and by spending so much time building it, my job has been made easier for my current work.


But because I spent so long in the editing stage as opposed to the writing stage, I found it quite difficult getting back into the swing of writing something new. Because of this I feel that my current novel has suffered somewhat in it's progress. It was never intended to be as long as my last piece, but it still feels like it's taken forever to struggle up to the point where I am now. I'm aiming for the 80k word limit for this piece (not an unreachable limit, by far), but for a long time the ending has seemed so far off.


Imagine my surprise when my word count told me I had reached the 60k mark. What?! Where did the last 30 thousand words come from??


I'm not complaining though, far from it. My 80k aim is now in reaching distance, and with the end climax to look forward to, I'm sure the last 20k words will appear with no hassle at all.


Just goes to show that persistant struggling pays off . . .

Exercise: Bringing a Setting To Life . . .

I was lucky enough to have a whole week of holiday last week. I spent a week in the sunny West Country known as Devon – even though it was a cheap week because my folks live out there – but none-the-less. We done so much stuff that I can hardly remember any of it, but one thing that did stick in my mind was our drive through Dartmoor. I’m one of those strange people who prefers and appreciates the countryside more than the beach, and for those who are like me I’m sure you’d agree that Dartmoor is a beautiful place.

As we drove past wild moors, littered with thousands of sheep and wild ponies, and rocks and Tors, it really got me thinking about the setting and location of my novel. There’s a section in my story where my two MC’s are travelling across the open plains. Now, I’m ashamed to admit this, but I hadn’t actually put much thought into what this place was actually like. What is there apart from miles and miles of . . . grassy fields? The odd tree dotting the horizon maybe? A rolling hill?

It doesn’t work, does it, and I didn’t realise this until my drive across the moors. It’s supposed to be wild, untamed lands, and I haven’t been pulling it off, so I decided to give it a practice last night, to see if I could bring my lands to life. The exercise was to choose a location in your novel and describe it. This is what I churned out:

Exercise: Bringing a Setting To life . . .

The hill was steep and long, but by the time he made it up to the top it was worth it. The hills were no longer green, but the warm, welcoming shades of purple and yellow, of the heather and the cowslips that blanketed them. Trees dotted the distant hills in gatherings of five or six, their shapes casting individual and interesting shapes against the blue sky.

Behind him, the way he had just come, the hills were levelled and the lands lush and green. The horizon appeared miles away from the altitude that he stood, and he could follow the exact path he had just trekked with his eyes.

The scene in front of him told a different story. The land was rocky, with boulders littering his path. Most boulders were large and obvious to see and steer around, but some hid in the long grass and heathers, promising to make his journey treacherous.

A gathering of rocks sat on a distant peak, piled high as if a man-made structure, but this a natural Tor, and one of many that he was to use as a landmark to direct his way. He was grateful for these Tors, knowing that without them his travels would be difficult. Without them the weeks of crossing the open, rough terrain that sat in front of him would prove fatal, and he would be helpless against being swallowed by the wild expanse . . .


*I got good feedback from this but the one thing I failed to mention was SMELL. This is the one sense that always gets left out, but is an important element to include when trying to bring your world to life. I slap my wrist and promise to use it in my actual writing – but I smile at the fact that I wasn’t the only one to miss it out . . .