This is what a lot of people claim being a writer is all about. Sitting up at strange hours of the day and typing up your novel or pounding out your short story. Almost every professional writer has the same advice: Write, write, write. It doesn't matter if you are happy, sad, sick, or stuck in a snow storm. One should always write. There are some authors who tell you that you should choose a time and then make a guide on how many hours you should sit writing every day. Others are more intuitive and say that you should write only a certain amount of pages per day.
While listening to all of this advice it is very easy to get confused. What should you listen to? Maybe you should amalgamate a little of both. First of all, put aside some time, and then lay down a page goal. If you reach the page goal before you reach the time goal for each day, hen continue typing, because you are obviously on a role.
Putting that aside, I just finished my own long story which I shall refer to by it's working title "RingMage". A lot of time went into it and also a lot of rewriting. It always seemed to me like I was rewriting a chapter I didn't like, but that is why they call it a first draft.
Actually, the reason I wanted to get on here was to show the next small part of my writing of "Oracle". That's righ. I woke up at some random hour because I had a great idea of the next bit of dialog there. Here it is:
A woman dressed in a thick wollen dress, with a low neckline, walked over and in a grating voice asked, “What can I get you?” As she did this, she did her best to fluff graying brown hair. She was not as young perhaps as some of the patrons of the tavern would have wished, but she was not old either. The man didn’t even look up as she tried to get his attention. “What’s the house special?”
“A fine Lager, made right here.”
“Then get me some ale woman.”
“That will be half a penny per mug to let you know.”
“This must be some mighty fine ale then…” The man looked skeptically at the tavern wench when a silken voice came through the hood.
“It isn’t.” The voice was soft, and there was no hint in the tone as to wether the person was male or female.
The man turned towards the cloaked stranger and staring hard asked, “What do you suggest.” The man's eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion.
“I don’t suggest anything, but if you want something to drink, go with the ‘faie wine. Good as anything else that they sell. It's even better than the lager.” The white hand that was within view reached out and slightly tapped the small bowl that was on the table. At the tap, the clear liquid sloshed only slightly, but ripples appeared as if someone had stuck their finger in the direct center.
The man seemed to think about it and then nodded his approval, motioning at the same time to the woman. “What he said. I'll have a bowl of 'faie wine.” The woman shrugged. “That’s three-the-copper.”
“That is fine by me,” the Northern man answered and the woman walked off at the quaint dismissal of the man. He looked at the white cloak for another minute and then said, “Stranger, it’s impolite to leave the hood of your cloak on.” He heard a small chuckle.
“It would be highly impolite to the tavern keeper if I took it off… I tend to like my anonymity.”
The man nodded and then said, “Do you have a name?” He waited a moment and then a small hand raised itself.
“I have many names; and not all of them good, but you may simply call me Luc.” The man nodded at the candor. If the cloaked figure wished not to use House names, then so be it. He would not either.
“My name is Lyzanor. It is nice to meet you Luc.” For a moment, the man thought that he could sense a smile from underneath the hood. “People call me Nor for short though.”
“Nor it is then.” At that moment, the woman came back with Lyzanor’s ‘faie wine. He handed her four coppers and the girl walked off with a slight twinge in her lip. “What brings you to this part of the world Nor,” the voice intoned. “Is it the Arch Prelate’s summons?”
Lyzanor nodded. “Yes, it was, as a matter of fact. Damn bandits take the church for granted and blessed saints if I’m going to let them overrun it!”
“Then you are a blessed of Nadiria?”
“That I am, blessed be her name. Nadiria is the patron goddess of my house. I do not follow what the Arch Prelate says, but I do listen to what the needs of Nadiria are. She has been good to me, just as much as the blessed saints.” At that point, Lyzanor picked up the bowl in front of him and took a deep, long sip of the wine. The sweet and subtle tang of it flowed down his throat like liquid ice. The ‘faie wine was from the mountains no doubt, but was it from the Illen’faie? He couldn’t tell. As he placed the bowl down in front of him, he turned his attention to scrutinizing what was inside the cloak.
“What brings you here to this out-land province Luc?”
Once again, Lyzanor could swear that he sensed a smile from within the hood of the cloak. “The reason I’m here? Well, it’s not like yours. At least yours is not what you say; but as for me… I believe it is about to come in through the door in just a moment…” As white hands began to lift the bowl, Lyzanor’s eyebrows furrowed in misunderstanding. At that moment, the tavern door swung open and from the cold darkness of the cold stumbled in another figure with a gray cloak into the room.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Friday, December 29, 2006
First Posts are Annoying
Everyone must do the proverbial "First Post" that intorduces someone into the politics of the bloging site they are reading. I'm going to skip that and just do what I will typically do when I am on this site. I will be posting a couple paragrapsh from a story tha tI am writing every day. Taht's right, you heard me: Every Day! Great huh? Now you msut be wondering why I am doing this. It's simple: I want to write for the rest of my life. That's right. I have big plans. Which I will discuss tomorrow once I have them all put together. You see, I personally like Fantasy Fiction, but I read all sorts of books. If you have a book that you want me to read, feel free to tell me what it is. As a matter of fact, I'll have even more info on contacting me tomorrow if you want to do so.
Continuing on though, I will also write about influences on my work. That means I'll also be reviewing books as well. There will be a lot of books by the time I'm done. I can just feel it. Thousands upon Thousands of books. Just the way all biblophiles in the world love it. Most of the books I will discuss will usually have made animpact on me in someway as well that I will also share with you if you like.
So as a start with the book reviews, I shall start with an old book that was once my favorite book way back when I was in 4th grade. It was called "So You Want to Be a Wizard". This book is by author Diane Duane. While not the hardest book to read, it is indeed an interesting read. The book starts out with a girl named Nita Callahan. She's thirteen and has problems with bullies at her school. While trying to hide from Joanne and her gang of girls, she hides in the library and stumbles across a book that seems to teach how to be a wizard to anyone; that is as long as they take the Wizard's oath and do a tiral, also known as "the Ordeal".
Soon, she is at home, practicing spells, and she meets another boy who has the same book named Kit Rodriguez, who also has the same bully problem. Fromt here, the book gets rather interesting. A large "white hole" named Fred comes to tell them of a missing book, known as the Book of Night with Moon. The search for the book leads both kids to an alternate Manhattan (and this might I add is my favorite part...). Man-eating helicopters, vicious packs of killer cabs; can it get any better?
Doesn't that sound like the best place to save the world from ancient evils?
This has to have been one of my favorite books when I was a child and I often read this book over and over again. Even if you're 10 to 50, it's a really good book. Go read it.
Now for the part that you ahve been waiting for. you want to see what I can write, right? Well here it is. I wrote a little starter for all to read. The story is called Oracle (working title name only). I hope that you guys like it:
Part 1 -
The tavern was dark and smoky. At one table near the door, a single person sat, cloaked in a long white cloak. The cowl hung over their face in such a way that no one could see into it. On the dark table made from pine, a single bowl sat on the table. Pale porcelain hands reached for the bowl from within the cloak and lifted it up into the cowl. The bowl vanished into the darkness of the hood. As it did, the tavern door flew open and a cold wind blew in. Cold wind surged around the cloaked figure that stood in the tall doorway. The taproom went silent for a moment as the figure stood in the doorway, surveying all. Slowly, the brown cloaked form walked into the crowded room.
The hood of the cloak fell back and a man was revealed with a long thick mustache and a scar down his right cheek. Dark brown hair hung down past his neck and towards the bottom of it, it was braided in traditional northern style. Three braids intertwined with each other, and at the bottom of them, the dark green beads that were also commonly worn in the north. The taproom stared at him for a minute and then went back to its original merriment, ignoring the stranger.
As the man looked around, he saw that only one table had almost nobody at it. The only person at the table was the white hooded figure. The man stood there, trying to size up the person sitting there, but neither sex, nor persona was able to be seen. He walked over, sword on hip, and sat down. Unbuckling his scabbard, he placed it on the table as a sign of good will. He could not see into the cloak’s hood, but then he was not sure if he wanted to. The bowl that sat in front of the figure jostles slightly.
And as a Random Fact for today:
Marcel Proust's "A La Recherche Du Temps Perdu" (translated as Remembrance of Things Past) is the world's longest novel, according to Guinness World Records. The profoundly influential 13-volume work contains 9,609,000 characters, with each letter and space counting as one character.
Continuing on though, I will also write about influences on my work. That means I'll also be reviewing books as well. There will be a lot of books by the time I'm done. I can just feel it. Thousands upon Thousands of books. Just the way all biblophiles in the world love it. Most of the books I will discuss will usually have made animpact on me in someway as well that I will also share with you if you like.
So as a start with the book reviews, I shall start with an old book that was once my favorite book way back when I was in 4th grade. It was called "So You Want to Be a Wizard". This book is by author Diane Duane. While not the hardest book to read, it is indeed an interesting read. The book starts out with a girl named Nita Callahan. She's thirteen and has problems with bullies at her school. While trying to hide from Joanne and her gang of girls, she hides in the library and stumbles across a book that seems to teach how to be a wizard to anyone; that is as long as they take the Wizard's oath and do a tiral, also known as "the Ordeal".
Soon, she is at home, practicing spells, and she meets another boy who has the same book named Kit Rodriguez, who also has the same bully problem. Fromt here, the book gets rather interesting. A large "white hole" named Fred comes to tell them of a missing book, known as the Book of Night with Moon. The search for the book leads both kids to an alternate Manhattan (and this might I add is my favorite part...). Man-eating helicopters, vicious packs of killer cabs; can it get any better?
Doesn't that sound like the best place to save the world from ancient evils?
This has to have been one of my favorite books when I was a child and I often read this book over and over again. Even if you're 10 to 50, it's a really good book. Go read it.
Now for the part that you ahve been waiting for. you want to see what I can write, right? Well here it is. I wrote a little starter for all to read. The story is called Oracle (working title name only). I hope that you guys like it:
Part 1 -
The tavern was dark and smoky. At one table near the door, a single person sat, cloaked in a long white cloak. The cowl hung over their face in such a way that no one could see into it. On the dark table made from pine, a single bowl sat on the table. Pale porcelain hands reached for the bowl from within the cloak and lifted it up into the cowl. The bowl vanished into the darkness of the hood. As it did, the tavern door flew open and a cold wind blew in. Cold wind surged around the cloaked figure that stood in the tall doorway. The taproom went silent for a moment as the figure stood in the doorway, surveying all. Slowly, the brown cloaked form walked into the crowded room.
The hood of the cloak fell back and a man was revealed with a long thick mustache and a scar down his right cheek. Dark brown hair hung down past his neck and towards the bottom of it, it was braided in traditional northern style. Three braids intertwined with each other, and at the bottom of them, the dark green beads that were also commonly worn in the north. The taproom stared at him for a minute and then went back to its original merriment, ignoring the stranger.
As the man looked around, he saw that only one table had almost nobody at it. The only person at the table was the white hooded figure. The man stood there, trying to size up the person sitting there, but neither sex, nor persona was able to be seen. He walked over, sword on hip, and sat down. Unbuckling his scabbard, he placed it on the table as a sign of good will. He could not see into the cloak’s hood, but then he was not sure if he wanted to. The bowl that sat in front of the figure jostles slightly.
And as a Random Fact for today:
Marcel Proust's "A La Recherche Du Temps Perdu" (translated as Remembrance of Things Past) is the world's longest novel, according to Guinness World Records. The profoundly influential 13-volume work contains 9,609,000 characters, with each letter and space counting as one character.
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