Category Archives: Reading

Elizabeth Moon’s Oath of Gold

10 Wednesday Apr 2013

Posted by in Musing, Reading, Storytelling, Writing

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Oath of Gold     I enjoyed Oath of Gold, the third in “The Deed of Paksenarrion” trilogy and getting to know Elizabeth Moon’s early fantasy side. It has been remarkable to watch the evolution of her writing style. She seemed to have found her stride during this the final chapter of Paks’s story and Paks truly stepped out to become round and dynamic. The dialogue felt more authentic and the predominantly human versus human conflicts extremely satisfying.
     On that note, a thought came to me as I finished the book. Was the dialogue an issue for me because Moon was still developing her skill or was it a purposeful device to support Paks growing from a young country girl naïve in the ways of world to a full grown woman tried, tested and sharpened by harsh experience? As I reflect on the trilogy as a whole, I plan to keep this thought in mind when I next read a fantasy. To answer the question here would take a second read of the trilogy and my reading list is too long for that. Another tantalizing tidbit gleaned from Moon’s website is the suggestion that trilogy was first written as a single long story, broken up “…for practical purposes…” I can only imagine this means for publications sake. Did Moon’s skill evolve more organically then rather than in stages? Or are my own observations too amateur and arm-chair in nature?
     As intended, Moon’s exploration of the military-religious mind set was thought provoking. I am always torn between wanting the authentic ring of the ever-compromising human mindset and a craving for a clear cut conflict between good and evil and a champion clear of mind and purpose. Paks seemed to reflect more of the later than the former in her perception of right and wrong, which was alright by me. Her need to come to grips with the reality of human suffering however—the feelings of those who cannot wield weapons in their own defense due to status, class, economic or training limitations—I thought was a great touch and satisfied the former.
     We (and I use the term very loosely) are so jaded against those with a singleness of vision. We fear the power it gives them and its possible abuse. Templars come immediately to mind. I wonder, however, how much of the negative reputation gained by such holy warriors was not the result of the greedy men and woman who commanded them; who, though purporting a veneer of religious intent, were truly concerned with narcissistic gain and infected with megalomania. What resulted was an order of knights fed at an infected teat and as far from the Grail model they dreamed of as one could be. Our opinion of such is further influenced by our own political leaders who have failed us time and time again…and continue to do so, unable to agree on anything, behaving in a fashion no recess-monitor would tolerate on the playground let alone the halls of congress. The scope of this musing does not allow for much more than idle thoughts, but it is a tantalizing thread.
     I still felt put off by the use of elves, dwarves, gnomes and orcs as too crutch-like, unnecessary for an enjoyable story. I think it would have been more exciting had she kept such at a minimum and relied predominantly on exotic human constructs or developed her own races and species as she did with some of the creatures Paks encountered. Again, I realize this was the rage at the time of publication—witness the Dragonlance saga. I also realize it is most probably my own tastes which are involved here—thousands of RPG inspired novel readers can’t all be wrong.
      So…what has this modern master taught me or reminded me of that I should keep in mind?
     I love a good bildungsroman. I love reading about characters going through a process of both structured growth as well as growth and evolvement that is experience based. Paks satisfies both categories as she undergoes her military training in the first book; her spiritual training in the second and the harrowing ordeals of the world’s training ground in the third. Over and over again, I am reminded of Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey. I note that this predilection is on my HTTS’ “Sweet Spot Map” as one of the things I’m drawn to.
     In relation to the above, it was satisfying to read as Paks learned from her experiences and to place them as filters over the past. The changing POV and her notice of it lent another layer of authenticity to her characterization.
     Paying attention to dialogue is important. Though the honeymoon phase between reader and author is a real as it is brief, authentic dialogue, reflective of a character’s experience and place, is important from the start. I’ll need to look into this very carefully and be wary of it.
     A book that provokes thinking is always good. I would rather write one like that than one wherein my reader smiles, has a good read and promptly forgets they ever read it.

Elizabeth Moon’s Divided Allegiance

29 Friday Mar 2013

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Divided Allegiance (The Deed of Paksenarrion, #2)Divided Allegiance by Elizabeth Moon
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I enjoyed this volume of Paksennarion’s story and despite some misgivings have become invested enough in the character to pursue her tale in Oath of Gold. Moon’s style matured much between January ’88’s The Sheepfarmer’s Daughter and this volume published in October of ’88. I noticed it most in the superior dialogue of Divided Allegiance. While it still had a long way to go before it would sound as good as it will in her later Esmay and Heris novels, it seemed to me a marked improvement over her first novel.

With the perspective of years, I found the abundance of DnD and Tolkien inspired tropes a bit tedious. At the time however, this was the rage and much of the book’s events could easily have been inspired by a table-top pen-and-paper RPG campaign. Acrya has many similarities with Lolith; the evil iynisin are but drow once removed, and her tombs and ruins are filled with ‘dungeon crawl’ fodder: demon possessed elves, traps, minions and magic. I usually go out of my way to avoid stories that rely heavily on Orcs, Elves and Dwarves but by the time they showed up in force, I was too deep into the storytelling to pull out. And even though this is a testament to her good characterization and plot, I do wish she could have woven a fantasy tale without the need for such. It’s what I enjoyed most about the first book.

I found myself reacting emotionally more to Pak’s clashes with other humans than I did concerning her encounters with the demi-humans. Moon’s writing seemed more authentic and considered in such situations. I wonder if this isn’t why I noticed the improvement in her dialogue. Paks in conversation with her human friends was much more convincing than when she was speaking to her demi-human companions. Indeed, I found myself more engaged and concerned about her relationship with “Socks” than I did about her encounter with the evil iynisin.

I think, there is a lesson here for my own writing.

While it is arguable that the presence of such archetypes and tropes is the very stuff of fantasy, they can come off as ineffective and redundant if handled poorly. For example, in many modern fantasies, The Sword of Shannara and Eragon comes to mind, these motifs are presented as if the author is counting on the audience to bring to the reading experience a whole set of preconceived ideas and notions about them, relying on the trope rather than on originality. This is a gamble if not handle in a more creative manner. On one hand those who love such things, those looking for a reading experience similar to, say, Tolkien, will accept it without question. On the other, the author runs the risk of alienating readers like myself who want more wonder, surprise and awe than another attempt at Tolkien. This is not because I believe Tolkien wrote the definitive version of orcs, elves and dwarves but because so many authors try to present them in Tolkienesque fashion.

I need to remember that it isn’t enough to present a wizard or a unicorn or a magic scroll to my readers and hope that they get it. Such things need to be carefully developed and fed to the audience with deliberation and forethought. For all that, Moon did a fare job of presenting her topes with budding originality and obvious care. Still, I hope she kept Pak’s encounters with them to a minimum in Oath of Gold.

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Elizabeth Moon’s The Sheepfarmer’s Daughter

17 Sunday Mar 2013

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Sheepfarmer's DaughterSheepfarmer’s Daughter by Elizabeth Moon
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

No Spoilers

I enjoyed this book very much, but then I like military fantasy. The beginning chapters that treat Pak’s training and establishing herself within a mercenary company, may seem long and slow to those who enjoy more paranormal/superhero-television inspired pop-fantasy, but for those who understand that joining a successful military unit has its own arc and logic and are at peace with that, this book may satisfy the craving.

That being said, some of the combat descriptions are less than unique, I.E. individual. Some of them come across as verbal landscape devoid of landmarks and rather interchangeable. Very little sets one battle off from another. The violence of war is very carefully described and clean…almost choreographed and comes off as a bit bland. I just finished Branden Cornwell’s The Archer’s Tale and think back on his Agincourt and the comparison of combat descriptions there leaves those in The Sheepfarmer’s Daughter rather insipid.

I believe this maybe due to The Sheepfarmer’s Daughter being an early attempt at the genre and her (I think) first novel. I have no doubt things will take on greater depth and more vivid description as the series continues. I was completely satisfied with her Esimay Suiza Once a Hero series which was written nearly a decade later [I have not read the preceding three Serrano’s Legacy books, but I plan to].

All that aside, however, I like a tale of someone rising from obscurity to success with harrowing character-shaping obstacles along the way to give them growth and grit. I am eager to read the next installment and look forward to enjoying Pak’s continued development…as well as Moon’s.

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What do I hope to get out of my writing?

15 Sunday Jul 2012

Posted by in Observation, Rant, Reading, Writing

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Though I have posted very little over the last couple of weeks, it is not for lack of writing. I have been brain-deep in Holly Lisle’s “How to Think Sideways” course endeavoring to squeeze as much from my investment as possible. I must say that to do so has required as much dedication, patience and work as any course I took during my college days if not more! And so far, I have learned a lot.

In one of her writing tip newsletters, Holly challenged her students to, “know themselves As A Writer.” The first of two questions she posed to pursue this challenge was a doozey: “What do [you] hope to get out of [your] writing?” I had never really thought about that.

Since I was about nine or 10, I had expressed the desire to write a book. That goal in and of itself was enough to keep me content and journal writing and world building for years. I made no serious differentiation between what it was to write a book and what it meant to publish one until I was significantly older. Up until that point and beyond writing a book, I had never considered what I wanted from my writing.

In a conversation with my wife the other night, I flat out said, “Sometime in the near future, I’d like to quit full-time teaching and write professionally.” This was a bold statement; one that reminded me of the first time I had the guts to say, “I am a writer.” We spent a part of our conversation on what doing so would mean and require and how it might be done. One of my wife’s points had to do with publication. We discussed the merits of short story or essay publication and that, in her opinion, I might need to do that before I tackled selling a book. We came to no conclusions or even agreement, but it was good food for mental chewing and perfect fodder for the above question. While I do not think a career change and publication are a complete answer by any means to what I want get out of my writing, apparently it is two very important facets.

On a very basic level, I suppose I want the prestige of writing and publishing a book, regardless of how well it does monetarily. As a child I saw authors as quasi-divine kami of parchment, ink and idea, who literally worked magic: creating worlds, legends and myths. I wanted, and still want, to be a member of that club.

As with many who have reached the half-century mark and beyond and who admire fantasy and adventure fiction, the urge to do so came after reading Tolkien. I believe I had an advantage over many who have since encountered the modern myth, because prior to reading about Frodo and Middle Earth, I had read The Bible, Le Morte D’Arthur, The Odyssey, The Táin Bó Cúailnge, tales from the Book of Invasions, Ivanhoe and numerous Native American myths (particularly stories of The Sacred Pipe and White Buffalo Calf Woman). Pretty heavy stuff for a ten year old. Some might question this, but let me hasten to point out that in my neck of the woods and at that time, television only had three channels and no 24-hour continuous broadcasting. Stations used to “sign-off” right around midnight. Selections were limited, to say the least, so when I say there was nothing on T.V. worth watching, boys and girls, I mean there was NOTHING on T.V. worth watching. The only alternative, if one’s friends were busy, was reading, which is exactly what I did.

Thus, I came at Tolkien from a distinctly different point-of-view than most modern readers do. The modern mythology that Tolkien created blew me away. The merits or demerits of the plot were not issues I entertained yet, but what I could appreciate due to my reading habits was his depth of background and cultural constructs. I felt like I was reading Beowulf or The Iliad wherein I could sense deeper tales hanging like shadowy backdrops upon which the action took place—the story of Finn in the former and the war of the gods in the later. Poems half written—The Falls of Nimrodel, and the Lay of Gil-Galad—that I could tell were written somewhere in full. It was like a eureka moment for me to think that a modern writer could make myths on par with Gilgamesh or the Icelandic Sagas. I don’t know why I had never entertained such a thought before; I guess I just thought all the cool stuff had been written and now folk wrote books like the Happy Hollisters, The Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew and boring “adult” stuff I wasn’t even remotely interested in. From the moment the Company of the Ring stepped into Moria and Gimli sang part of the Song of Durin,

The world was fair, the mountains tall,
In Elder Days before the fall
Of mighty kings in Nargothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away:
The world was fair in Durin’s Day.

I began imagining my own mythology. The Silmarillion with its elevated style confirmed what I sensed lay behind LotR… what I now found to be just the tip of Tolkien’s mythological ice-berg. It sealed the deal: I would one day create my own mythology and write a book.

RANT WARNING: On a side note, the excitement of The Silmarillion’s publication made Christmas of 1977 particularly merry for me: more maps, more legends. By that time there were more T.V. channels, but thankfully I was hooked on reading and normally sought my entertainment from the page rather than the tube. I want to emphatically state here that I had few problems reading the more elevated style of Tolkien’s posthumous publication as many would-be readers do today. I would argue—and I know I’m going to step on toes here with my assertion, but I will swear upon my life it is true and after having more than 3000 students pass through my classroom over the last 20+ years, I know whereof I speak—I would argue that because I was not raised with television and movies as my primary source of entertainment, I was literate and skilled and critically minded enough to appreciate The Silmarillion for what it was. 30-plus years ago, peers to whom I had introduced the LotR did indeed struggle with the tome. Ultimately they complained that they expected more of the same, another adventure like Frodo’s. A few who had been raised on reading however, did slog through and admitted it made their reading of LotR all the more enjoyable. 20 years ago, students who had read LotR, complained to me that The Silmarillion was just, “…too hard to read…why did [he] make it so hard?” It was the same complaint they leveled against the Bible, the Torah, the Koran, the Greek Myths, the Matter of Britain, 1001 Arabian Nights, The Worm Ouroboros, etc. Today, many of my students complain that the reading of LotR is “…too hard…” to give it a go, that they would rather watch Jackson’s interpretations over and over or read easy YA. As for The Silmarillion? I don’t even mention it anymore. It would be paramount to assigning the Rosetta Stone as literature as far as they are concerned. What has happened since 35 years ago and now? It is so obvious, I will not even mention it here. The willful dumbing-down of society makes me weep especially because so much of it is deliberate ignorance chosen because “it’s too hard” (add the whine) and, mark my words, as a result society will suffer a descent no less deep and no less permanent than that suffered by Rome. The only difference is that ours will be based on illiteracy and the expectation that everything must be easy and rewarding or it is not worth doing.

Thank you, mother! Thank you, thank you, for putting your foot down and forcing me to read Le Morte D’Arthur at age seven, for shoving a book into my hands and shutting off the television! Of all the gifts you gave me, this is the one I treasure most. Rant over.

During the interim between those halcyon days and those I live now, I learned how important the storyteller is. Tolkien had contemporaries who were great mythmakers: C.S.Lewis, E.R.Eddison, and Lord Dunsany. Indeed there were storytellers who preceded Tolkien such as William Morris, the great pre-Raphaelite painter, architect and designer, who had a strong influence on Tolkien with his “prose romances” of which I read The House of Wolfings and The Roots of the Mountains. Howard, Burroughs, Norton, DeCamp, Moorcock, LeGuin, etc., etc. came after, their works impressing me over and over as to the critical role of the storyteller as modern mythmaker. Today the same is true, fantasy or fiction, historical novels or romance, be it stories of female bounty hunters or possession by aliens from a distant star, each requires a good storyteller. I have ever argued that there are no new stories, but there are new storytellers…mythmakers who with their unique voices and wizardry can take well worn archetypes and refurbish them strong and shining. I want to do that too. I find nothing in this world so rewarding or fulfilling, as telling my students a tale that they listen to with rapt attention and are eager to hear the finish of…even staying a few moments after the bell has rung to “hear the rest. The high is incredible. I yearn to tell a good tale, a story people want to read and feel they have not wasted their time in the reading.

At the end of my life, and here in the winter of my time on earth that thought is much more real than it was in my 30s, I suspect I will have far, far less creative successes to feel satisfied with than I will regrets. I do not, however, want this to be one of them. I want to relax into the arms of death content in this at least: that those who mourn my passing will remember me as a good storyteller, a mythmaker, a yarn-spinner…that I did what most folk only talk of: I wrote books and they were good tales. I want to look back and say, “I did it,” not, “I wish I had…”

Thus, “What do I hope to get out of my writing?”:

I hope to create a second career.

I hope to create my own myths and mythology.

I hope to tell good tales and publish them.

I hope to scratch the creative itch.

I hope to give my passing from this life some satisfaction.

Brent Weeks’ The Way of Shadows

15 Friday Jun 2012

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I seriously enjoyed this book and read it in a couple of days. I am pretty picky and hold my epic fantasy up to an extremely bright light. I’m happy to say that Weeks was able to present a compelling story that kept the Aesthetic-Distance just about right, so there were only a few moments wherein my Suspension-of-Disbelief was challenged. Weeks maintained great tone and a mood throughout that kept me in the story. That being said, I’d like to have had a bit more information and, for example, have accompanied Kylar on one or two more pivotal “deader” assignments so as to compare an assassination to a wet-op so that the differences between the two could be made plainer.

His characters were well realized. I could so picture Gary Oldman as Blint; Sigorney Weaver as Momma K; Bradley James (from BBC One “Merlin” fame) as Logan. Strangely enough no one stepped into the Azoth/Kylar role, but that didn’t stop me from picturing him in my imagination. Doll-Girl kinda creeped me out. Not because of the way Weeks presented her, but because just before the school year ended one of my students showed me a pic of Dakota Rose–some sort of Internet personality and the image just sorta stuck in my head. I need to do a memory purge or something.

What an odd place Cenaria City must be to live with its juxtaposition of architectural styles over a foundation of rot and the outwardly hard lines between the nobility and the destitute countered by the supremacy of an underworld over that of respectable government. For the most part, Weeks’ descriptions of his world were excellent. I have to admit however, that there were moments when at some serious juncture of climactic stress, it felt like he was trying to describe too much, like his thoughts were getting ahead of his pen, and he lost me and I had to stop, go back and carefully read what was going on to get it straight. Admittedly that happened only once or twice and the problem could have been completely on my part.

One of my tests wherein I decide if reading the rest of the series or book is a good idea or if abandoning it would be a better one is how well the magic system is explained, realized and implemented. I appreciate a carefully considered magic system. It does not have to be a particularly original system as historic precedent and past-practice make creating one rather difficult, but it MUST be consistent in its rendering! It is truly the bread and butter of well realized fantasy. Whether center stage or as background a poorly rendered magic system makes the rest of the story hard to swallow: bad Aesthetic-Distance and a tenuous Suspension-of-Disbelief.

Weeks’ magic system is simple, expository and adhered too, though it is a little vague in places. For example, I could easily comprehend the Glore Vyrden – Conduit – Absorbency/re-charge model, but was not sure how or why certain magic-classes were more powerful than others. Referred to as “Talent,” magical augmentation is what separates a wetboy from an assassin. By extension, I would imagine it would separate other arts and services into mundane and “Talented” classes as well, but I have yet to encounter this.

Culturally much is left to the reader to figure out as there is a complex sub-culture of wytches, meisters and mages grown up around the system. Weeks supplies a glossary on his website and in the back of my version of the trilogy that helps. His “rules” for artifacts are also a bit murky as well, but as the story around them and conflict concerning them develops in the next couple of books, I’m sure it will clear.

I’m into the second book now, Shadow’s Edge, and things are rolling right along picking up a week after the first book ended. It too promises to be a fun ride.

Spartan, A Novel

11 Monday Jun 2012

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No Spoilers

I think anyone who enjoyed the film The 300 or maybe even the remake of Clash of the Titans would enjoy this book. Certainly any reader who has a hankering for more things Spartan would like this book. Manfredi is at pains to honor original sources and as an archaeologist by trade, offers a wealth of rich detail and enough authentic description to make the reader feel as if they are in the midst of the action. The read is a lot of fun and reminds me more of a medieval romance, with its mysterious strangers that appear briefly and disappear, mystical prophesies that haunt the characters’ destinies and divine miracles and interventions than it does a historical novel.

Ironically, this is also wherein I find my two, albeit minor and personal, complaints. While I enjoyed Mandredi’s book quite a lot, he seemed to have trouble in deciding whether he wanted to write a fiction with mythological seasoning or a historical fiction that presents events as they might have been. This robbed me of completely abandoning myself to his storytelling. I personally do not feel both styles fit very well together. Either the story begins to sound too much like a fantasy to be historical or too much like the grit of history to be a fantasy. I think a book is more effective choosing one or the other. I would like to have seen him remove the supernatural suggestions and create a more believable possibility, such as in Pressfield’s Gates of Fire or Whyte’s The Skystone. To his credit, however, Mandredi holds off on any overt supernatural-ism until very late in the novel, it is a bit ‘bumpy’ at times and flirts dangerously with a deus ex machine or two. I have more to express on this topic, more definition to give it, but it is probably best presented in a separate blog entry.

Another minor quibble-point, though related to the above, and has to do with the language of the novel. As a translation, I am never quite sure how much of the author I am getting or how much of the translator. Character dialogue here is sometimes very dramatic, even epic, but then suddenly lapses back into informality in such a way as to be jarring or without natural rhythm. For me this is less than convincing as it disrupts dialogue euphony and pulls me out of the flow of the novel. For example:

     “…I’d rather sleep in the shed because I’m afraid the wolves will be out tonight.”
     “If that’s how it is,” nodded Kleidemos. “But wake me if you do hear the wolves; with my spear I can come to your aid.”
     “Thank you, my guest,” said Basias…

I do not mind the tone, but it sounds odd when juxtaposed with the informal contractions. I feel it should be one or the other and if it is going to shift there should be a plausible reason for it. I couldn’t help but smile and even chuckle a bit–“…with my spear I can come to your aid.” I am not sure if Manfredi wanted me to laugh to myself at that moment or not. Now, in his “Author’s Note” afterward, Manfredi mentions, “I’ve respected the original sources as closely as possible, seeking even in the language to reproduce the mentality and manner of living.” Those original sources, he mentions “Herodotus” for example, can sound pretty Homeric as the ancient writers seemed keen to give their narratives that Homeric sound of authenticity their readers no doubt expected. I wonder if what is coming through here is a mixture of Manfredi’s attempt to sound a bit Homeric and the translator’s own choices.

As I said, it is a minor point, but as a wannabe writer presently working on my own admittedly poor skills in writing such, I find it very important to keep the reader engaged in the story and odd dialogue is as sure-fire a method for challenging and possibly losing that engagement as any I can think of.

Regardless, I recommend the book to history fans like myself as well as adventure fans or those looking for a fix of ancient rock-‘em-sock-‘em seasoned with a little romance. I plan to purchase and read Manfredi’s The Last Legion, which, by the way, was made into a rather poorly written movie of the same name not too long ago starring Colin Firth and one of my favorite actors Ben Kingsley. The comparison between the two novels and their perspective voices should be interesting. On the other hand, I guess if a really want to know, I should learn to read Italian!

On the Death of My Writing Father

07 Thursday Jun 2012

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The day began with email from a former student and long time friend. It was short and to the point, but he knew it would speak volumes to me.

“RIP Ray Bradbury. Shitty day.”

After a quick search I learned that…I find it hard to even write it…Ray Bradbury died last night.

The world is a darker place for me today.

Though I never had the great good fortune or privilege to meet him, at the opening of each new school year when I begin Fahrenheit 451 with my honors classes or earlier in my teaching career—The Martian Chronicles with my sophomores, I always feel as if I am hosting the annual visit of a dear old friend and mentor.

During my first years of teaching English, The Martian Chronicles was a unit I always looked forward to exploring and re-exploring with my students. I began teaching in the early 90s and I always got a kick out of my students’ reaction to the titles of the compilation’s loosely related Martian tales. They would predictably chuckle at the dates—“January 1999—Rocket Summer” and “February 1999—Ylla” and so on and so forth as Bradbury proceeded to describe a technology that was to him at the time he penned the tale cutting edge and exotic but to my 16-year olds, who considered Star Wars a relic of their elementary school days (and later their parents’ era), archaic, rather quaint and therefore funny.

That was fine however, because it was my entry-point to a discussion of how science fiction had influenced our society and our lives. When they understood that the master writer had penned his opening tale in 1947, two years after the end of WWII and Hitler’s V2 rockets, ten years prior to Sputnik I and more than 20 years before Armstrong and Aldrin walked on the Moon, their amusement always turned to curiosity if not outright respect. Thus, would begin an exploration of Bradbury’s Verne-ian vision, his prosaic turn of phrase, his mastery of description, his social insight that would culminate in our own imaginary exploration and colonization of Mars. I still have some of the work produced by students who, as we imagined setting up our own outpost of humanity on Mars, were forced to deal with the same challenges, moral dilemmas and ethical conundrums as faced by Bradbury’s protagonists. We set up pretend societies and developed faux cultures, exotic alphabets, New Martian laws and institutions. One year a class accused another class’s colony of “war-crimes” against the indigenous Martian population. Another year and a student imagined the political campaign of a New Martian faction that advocated succession from a Terra Ferma that, as she passionately put it, “…burned books, polluted the air and oceans and refused to learn the lessons of its history.” I think Spender would have been pleased.

I look back on those days with great fondness. Bradbury, though in his 70s, was alive and writing, his literary ideas and intellectual challenges resonated with my students (as they will forever). I was younger and full of an idealism that seemed to feed off his writing. It was a glorious time. My copy of the Chronicles was a 1963 edition published by Time Inc. It included stories that later editions would not have: “The Fire Balloons,” “The Wilderness,” and the provoking “The Way in the Middle of the Air,” which would later in the year dovetailed so splendidly with To Kill a Mockingbird. I understand that a The Martian Chronicles: The Complete Edition has since been published with a section entitled “The Other Martian Tales” which includes 22 additional stories, some unpublished. I hope to read them one day.

I mourn his passing as a member of his extended literary family of would-be writers who took inspiration from his example, his extraordinary voice and wonderful visions. His Zen in the Art of Writing was my constant bedside companion for many years. My copy is marked, highlighted and underlined chronicling my own search for a Muse worth writing for. I regret never having heard him speak. Not long ago there was a writers’ conference in southern California wherein he spoke at a dinner event. Though tempted I decided against attending due to the price, time and distance. How deeply I repent that decision now. I’d always hoped to tell him, in some way or another, of his influence on both my teaching and my writing aspirations. I should have at least written. I would have loved to had him sign my copy of The Martian Chronicles; it would have become a family-treasure! As it is, I’ll have to settle with this small tribute, re-reading his works and searching out digital recordings on the Internet. Take a lesson, Andre’ :-T

His passing reminds me that time waits for no one and that the end of an epoch approaches. Only a few of the writers who made serious inroads into my heart and mind during that magical time when the young truly “discover” reading what they want to read as a unique and singularly powerful and empowering privilege, still remain alive: Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle, Michael Moorcock and Jack Vance—authors who along with Clark, Asimov, Heinlein, Herbert, Tolkien, Zelazny, Norton, Lewis and Leiber (themselves the prodigy of Howard, Lovecraft, Burroughs and the like) will forever stand tall in my dreams, all my “Writing” fore-bearers, grand parents, aunts and uncles.

I will never leave such a literary foot print as Bradbury, to whom I owe so much for my teaching, as well as writing, inspiration, but if I plan to leave any literary mark at all, be the writing-son I want to be, I must release my doubts, put away my apprehensions; I must damn the naysayers who tout “…too late…too old…too overdone…too cliché…too quaint…too passé…” I must, as the master put it, order my doubts to, …stand aside, forget targets, let the characters, your fingers, body, blood, and heart do (Zen 139). I am thankfully reminded of his poem Troy…a gift wherein I have always found comfort and inspiration. I hope I will be forgiven if I quote it in full here.

My Troy was there, of course,
Though people said: Not so.
Blind Homer’s dead. His ancient myth’s
No way to go. Leave off. Don’t dig.
But I then rigged some means whereby
To seam my earthen soul
or die.
I knew my Troy.
Folks warned this boy it was mere tale
And nothing more.
I bore their warning, with a smile,
While all the while my spade
Was delving Homer’s gardened sun and shade.
Gods! Never mind! Cried friends: Dumb Homer’s blind!
How can he show you ruins that n’er were?
I’m sure, I said. He speaks. I hear. I’m sure.
Their advice spurned
I dug when all their backs were turned,
For I had learned when I was eight:
Doom was my Fate, they said. The world would end!
That day I panicked, thought it true,
That you and I and they
Would never see the light of the next day—
Yet that day came.
With shame I saw it come, recalled my doubt
And wondered what those Doomsters were about?
From that day on I kept a private joy,
And did not let them sense
My buried Troy;
For if they had, what scorns,
Derision, jokes;
I sealed my City deep
From all those folks;
And, growing, dug each day. What did I find
And given as gift by Homer old and Homer blind?
One Troy? No, ten!
Ten Troys? No, two times ten! Three dozen!
And each a richer, finer, brighter cousin!
And in my flesh and blood,
And each one true.
So what’s this mean?
Go dig the Troy in you(150-1)!

Good-bye, my Writing-sire, and though, as you quoted Byron in “June 2001—And The Moon Be Still As Bright,” …we’ll go no more a-roving,/So late into the night, I will continue to dig for my Troy, my Tanelorn, my Camelot…my own Martian city wherein the denizens celebrate exotic festivals and, “There are beautiful boats as slim as women, beautiful women as slim as boats, women the color of sand, women with fire flowers in their hands…” (Martian 107), long wine-filled canals, towers of bone and crystal, with “…great friezes of beautiful animals, white limbed cat things, and yellow-limbed sun symbols, and statues of bull-like creatures and statues of men and women and huge fine-featured dogs”(85). I will dig and succeed to whatever measure and in whatever form Fate and my Muse and my Desire see fit to afford for me. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your words, your visions and your inspirations, my writing-father. Because of you, the moon will forever be as bright and Mars as real as the moon.

So, we’ll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we’ll go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon.
–Lord Byron, 1817

Bradbury, Ray. The Martian Chronicles. New York: Time Inc., 1963.
Bradbury, Ray. Zen In the Art of Writing. New York: Bantam Books, 1990.

Mountaineering the ‘Craftians’

29 Thursday Mar 2012

Posted by in Observation, Reading, Scions of the Moon, Writing

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Rocky terrain. Uphill going. Steeply inclined. Freezing. Snow drifts. A writer climbs the mountains.

Though I’d been writing in one form or another since I could; though I teach fiction and academic writing; though I have been an avid reader of contemporary and classic lit, I knew I had a lot to learn when it came to writing fiction. Just as many erroneously assume if one can speak a language, one can teach it, so too with writing fiction. Simply because one has the creative urge to write does not assume they can write interesting and create well composed fiction. It’s a craft—talent and natural ability notwithstanding—that must be learned, honed and challenged with “…careful practice during a severe course of training…” Isolated writers ploughing along, accumulating huge word counts in the wee hours of the morning or dark silences of the night easy forget how difficult it can be to do what they do well when overshadowed and wowed by such mountainous output.

On a NaNo forum I asked about what books the writers there had found helpful in developing craft. It was really surprising to me how many relied exclusively on learning by “…reading other writer’s fiction…” I agree and acknowledge that this as a wonderful source, one I utilize myself. I can’t help but wonder however, if that isn’t enough. Books and classes on writing my seem extemporaneous, but I am coming to appreciate more and more how much I don’t know as I read where other writers have sojourned before me and the elevated view they discovered there that I was unaware of—things that would have been obtuse or downright illusive were I to rely exclusively on gleaning from another writer’s fiction alone. Maybe it is just me, my learning modality, how I work best and my self-image that’s at play here, but…wow…this shit is hard to do right.

As I read my work I see more clearly how it’s such a pile of words and has very little to do with craft, but is more of a semi-creative vomit. For many that’s as far as it goes. Behold my mountain!

As I continue to read Kress’s book on character, emotion and point of view, in the back of my mind I am climbing with the girls from Scions. As I subject them to the exercises suggested at the end of each chapter—not all the exercises just those that seem applicable—it is becoming more and more evident that they lack something and that this ‘something’ is what is keeping me from composing about them as freely as I did the characters from The Kevodran.

I’m not entirely sure yet, but I have a growing suspicion it has to do with conflict. It’s not that there is no conflict, mind you, they’ve got plenty to deal with, but it may not be the right kind of conflict between the right characters, it may be too ‘outward,’ inter-conflict between themselves and others rather than intra-conflict within their relationship with each other. Even though I’ve given the girls divergent backgrounds, and skill sets, they still have too much in common having been raised together in a monastery for the past half dozen years. This commonality is for me, part of the “Screen of Reality” through which the girls perceive and react to the world around them and each other. I have a feeling the mesh is too fine, too uniform, too similar and, as a result, the girls are not reacting as individuals but as parrots of each other. I suspect these girls need private agendas. I suspect I may have to end up ‘breaking up’ their friendship in order to make them more interesting and appealing to a reader, as well as to my imagination. I may need to include the deeper underlying challenge of getting over themselves, setting aside petty behavior and learning to work together so that they might complete the overriding challenge in an interesting fashion.

This could mean a major rewrite, a climb back down the mountain, a resupply and a brand new attempt along a different route. While this may not necessarily negate the 60,000 words thus written, as it is arguable they were necessary to formulating a better plan, and though I would use material from them, a new beginning, a uniquely different beginning is in order.

Sigh.

Nothing is sure yet. I still have more than half the book to go. These are simply my thoughts at present. Now, back to my pitons and ropes.

At A Crossroads

20 Tuesday Mar 2012

Posted by in Observation, Reading, Scions of the Moon, The Kevodran, Writing

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Every now and then I have to remind myself that even though I greatly desire to be published, I really write because I must. I would write no matter what–in my journal, here or my other blogs or one of my manuscripts; I am, in that sense, a writer. Reminding myself of that takes the edge off the paralyzing anxiousness. The dynamic tension, on the other hand, that’s something I don’t want to put to sleep. The dividing line between the two states is razor’s thin and allowing myself to reach the edge is perilous indeed. Case in point, dynamic tension has been nodding off for some time now.

I have ‘chilled’ on my manuscripts, in despair trying to distance myself from the dilemma of which to throw myself at, like taking a nap before re-attacking a knotty problem. I need to give myself over to one of them however. I need dynamic tension to replace anxiousness. I sense I am at a crossroads and about to make a wholehearted choice. Regardless, I need to stop thinking about it and act.

Scions of the Moon as ever baulked at my entreaties and only released her secrets in reluctant flexing spasms like a choking car. There is something wrong, something in the way. I think it has to do with POV. I have three main characters and just can’t get my mind around how to handle their point-of-views. They are close (same gender and age); they come from similar experiences (abandoned in one form or another…without family); have been raised under nearly identical circumstances (monastery); encountered the same problem (the kidnap of their friend and no one to believe them); and have to face the same fear (leaving the monastery… to go ‘out-there’ for the sake of their friend).

While in the monastery, it didn’t see too much of a problem, but now they stand before the wall ready to climb over it and I’m holding them back because I don’t feel confident enough to portray their experience convincingly–or interestingly–enough.

I have my magic system developed enough that I’m comfortable with sending them over and writing about any arcane encounters they may have, but I think I will do one more thing before I definitively decide to pursue their adventure. In the back of my mind, I’m wondering if I should create a fourth character from which to tell the tale and have the presently three mains act as helpers and guides rather than stars of the show. Or maybe tell the tale from the perspective of the kidnapped friend or some other character who would be privy to the story but as a storyteller not directly part of the action. The former sounds more right than the latter. Sigh…maybe I need to grow and develop a little more as a writer before tackling multiple POVs.

Anyway, as a final meditation, I’m going to read Nancy Kress’s Characters, Emotion and Viewpoint in an effort to gain some perspective on and insights into multiple view points. As with all such books, writing ideas float up from the back of my mind as I read. I’ll keep track of them with notes and upon finishing–it’s only a little more than 200 pages–I’ll commit to a road. Should I choose The Kevodran road rather than the Scion track, the time spent with the “Wise Guide” will not be wasted as I’m sure there will be nuggets of wisdom therein panned that I can apply to Efrahm, Selt and Orrja’s story as well.

Am I simply avoiding commitment and, by extension, responsibility? I don’t know. It’s possible, but any plan is better than sitting on my hands enviously reading about another 16-year old prodigy producing copious amounts of YA re-run dubiousness (not bitter at all there are we?). Good, bad or indifferent, I need to forge ahead with my own dubiousness, and if for no one else then at least for me.

Sailing the Silent Sea With Sanderson’s Laws

20 Monday Feb 2012

Posted by in Gaming, Observation, Reading, Writing

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Though our group has dwindled from nearly 15 to only two players, representing no less that 35 player characters who have lived, loved, fought and died in Earinna’ar’s © moldering tombs and sparkling palaces over a space of almost 20 years (holy-moly!), the quality of our experience and the pleasure we take in our company has suffered not a whit! Brothers and sisters-in-arms…how precious you are to me.

While gaming—pen-and-paper, table-top, true-RPG only; if you please, LOL!—has ever been an inspiration for my writing, I have never been even remotely tempted to render a game session or campaign into prose-fiction. I was not impressed with Laura and Tracy Hickman’s Dragonlance Chronicles (the first trilogy anyway) and though I read them, they are one of the few fantasy books I read that I ever ended up giving away. In my opinion RPG mechanics do not lend themselves to good fantasy fiction. The game world, its plots and the system foundation upon which they are built are designed for purposes at odds with the ultimate goal of fiction. Though RPG and fiction hold many traits in common and can inform each other, a direct translation from one the to the other is problematic. That being said, my campaign world setting was created more for fictionalizing than for gaming, and its environs are indeed where my stories take place.

For the last couple of gaming sessions, the dynamic duo of Ashkenkar/John and Thillis/Skip have test-drove, discussed and debated a portion of the magic system I’ve been researching and putting together for the fictionalized version of Earinna’ar ©. I’m happy to report that though there were continuity rough spots that needed to be smoothed, exploitive holes that needed to be filled, overall the engine functioned well—that is, the explanation of how and why magic works is viable if not altogether sound and complete.

Much work is left to be done before I’m completely satisfied. “Sanderson’s First and Second Laws of Magic” offer the best advice for developing viable and exciting, as well as working, magic systems. I’ve consulted quite a few other sources for advice: Card’s now classic How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy; the wonderfully informative “The Writer’s Complete Fantasy Reference; volumes one and two of “The Complete Guide to Writing Fantasy and Steven Harper’s Writing the Paranormal Novel. An excellent RPG cross over reference was Expeditious Retreat Press’s A Magical Society: Ecology and Culture.  All of these were great reading, and thought provoking, but they concentrated more on what a writer needs to be mindful of when creating a magic system than describing a method for creating one—not a complaint, just an observation.

In the end I’ve come to the conclusion that what I’m looking for in terms of help doesn’t really exist. Each and every fantasy author’s system, hard or soft, has to come from within, whether it kants on the old or invents something new. The above references are helpful in warning me of the pitfalls associated with magic system creation, but ultimately there is no ‘method’ for creating such a system, only good advice.

Back to my tomes, tablets and testaments.

Originally posted in The Salamander’s Quill 1.0 now deleted.